Saturday, 21 July 2007


an ongoing blog-based insult to all that is good in the world



Furious D hangs up his cell phone and slides it casually into his pocket.

What did Chloe have to say?

Not much, just that our friend here Agent Traitor is....

Gay? Cause I was kinda getting that gay vibe thing.

I'm not gay! Why do I keep getting that?

No, Agent Traitor is not gay, not that there's anything wrong with that, he's a...


No. He's--

An Amway salesman?

No! He's a--

Ooh! Ooh! I know this one! I'm a Pisces!
Furious D whips out his pistol and puts it to Traitor's head.
He's a traitor! Agent Traitor is a traitor! He's working for LaFarge!
There's a shocked gasp from everyone, including Traitor.
Wait a minute, are you talking about my name, or what I've been up to?

What you've been up to.

Then you've got me pegged. I've sold out my county.

Who? Who is behind LaFarge and his plot?
Traitor shrugs.
I don't know. It could be Middle Eastern Terrorists, it could be some shady corporate conspiracy. It all depends on if the Fox Network gets threatened with another boycott.

Land this chopper. NOW!

Fine. They're going to write me out anyway.

What do you mean?
The glass of the chopper's canopy shatters and a bullet from outside hits Traitor right in the head.
Chompy! Take the controls!
Chompy the Badger leaps to the co-pilot's seat and takes control of the chopper. But something is wrong with the controls and the chopper begins to descend in a mad tailspin.

We're going down!

I should be so lucky.

GiGi whacks Furious D on the back of the head with a frying pan.



Furious D regains consciousness in a field. The chopper is a burning wreckage in the background.
Where does she keep that damn frying pan?
Welbum Fuvius T.

Furious D turns to see Marcel, until recently the doorman at Saccharine's high class brothel, but now his face was swathed in bandages and he was aiming a pistol at Furious D.
Fime gumma kibb boo.

Who are you? What are you saying? Are speaking French or something?

I'm Marfel. Fi gant talg ryd bebuzz ob hor bajer.
Oh, you're Marcel, and you can't talk because Chompy chewed you up pretty bad. Where are my friends?

Dond nobe, dond kayr. Hube die.
Marcel's about to shoot when...

Furious D throws a big rock and knocks the gun out of Marcel's hand. The two begin hand to hand combat in a flurry of masterful martial arts moves.

As Furious D battles Marcel we go into another split screen showing...

CHLOE at CTU HQ filing her nails.

GIGI walking along a wooded path, a cougar sneaking up behind her. The cougar also has a gun.

PLAYFUL1 locked in a basement tied to a chair, a time bomb showing that she's only got 5 minutes before it goes off.

CHOMPY at an Denny's ordering a coffee and a grand slam breakfast. But a man with piano wire is sneaking up behind him.

THE PRESIDENT looking concerned and presidential out the window of his Oval Office. His eyes widen as he sees a small missile heading straight for him.

GASTON LAFARGE on the toilet reading a People Magazine.

Oh Posh Spice, why do you fascinate me?

LaFarge realizes he's on camera.

A little privacy please.


Wednesday, 18 July 2007

Chapter 25

an ongoing blog-based abuse of the art of fiction
by guest writer
(creator of TV's 24)


6:00 AM & 7:00 AM


Furious D sees a large helicopter approach with a GOON hanging out the side door brandishing an assault rifle and aims it at Furious D.

Bullets zip past Furious D who nimbly dodges the shots and dives behind a rock for cover.

What the hell is happening? I thought this was a novel, why are we in screenplay format?

Oh, yeah, I'm not much of a novelist, so I went to a format I'm good at.

Won't it confuse my readers?

I'm sure both of them are plenty confused by the dog's breakfast of a plot you've been using. What the hell is with the golden budgie?
More shots ring off the rock.
Forget that, what about the chopper?

How about a crazy, over the top stunt?

Fine by me.
Furious D rises from behind the rock, his pistol in his hand.

Bullets fly around him, but he stays steely calm.

He aims and fires.

The chopper's PILOT develops a bullet hole right in the center of his head.

The chopper pilot slumps over the controls and the helicopter slips below the edge of the cliff.
Now's my chance!
Furious D charges to the edge of the cliff.

I have to time this just right!
Furious D leaps off the clip.

The helicopter hovers beneath Furious D, it's deadly blades spinning very deadly!

Furious D falls toward the helicopter, slips between the spinning blades and lands expertly on the roof of the helicopter.


The Goon with the gun is pulling the dead pilot off the controls of the chopper.

Then the side door opens behind him.

It's Furious D.
Howdy there. Looks like you need a hand.

Furious D punches the Goon who stumbles out the other door of the helicopter and plunges to his death.
Sorry, that wasn't a hand, that was a fist.

GiGi, Playful1, and Chompy T. Badger are tied up in the back of the van.
I think we're really doomed this time.

If Furious D really is dead, then why is this story going on?

No guessing what's coming!

So he is still alive!
That sounds like a chopper landing on the roof!
The van skids to a halt. There are some gunshots outside.

The back door opens and the girls, and the badger see Furious D.

It's me, Furious D!

Of course it's you. It's either you, or Keifer Sutherland really let himself go.

Hey! Surnow! Cut the editorials! Where's LaFarge & Saccharine?

They must have left in another van.

I left one of their goons alive. Time for the torture scene!

Can I come, I'm a bit of a sadist.

We can all come!

A WOUNDED GOON is trying to crawl away from the van.

Furious D and the others come up behind him and the girls pin the Wounded Goon to the ground.
You are going to talk. You have no control over that. What you can control, is how bad this is going to hurt.

I will never talk!
Furious D takes out a manila envelope.
Inside this picture are naked pictures of Michael Moore. If you don't tell me what I want to know, I will take them out and make you look at them.

You're a freaking sadist!

Tell me what I need to know!

Then tell me what you need to know!

Where are LaFarge and Saccharine?
Furious D opens the envelope.
I'll talk! I'll talk!


Two more helicopters arrive, they have the CTU logo and disgorge a platoon of black uniformed commandos who take the Wounded Goon prisoner and load him into the first chapter. CTU AGENT TRAITOR comes out of the second chopper.

I'm CTU agent Traitor. I'm to take all of you back to CTU HQ, PDQ.

I like the sound of your jargon. And your name inspires trust. Let's go.

Our heroes strap themselves into the back seat of the chopper and Traitor takes the pilot's seat. The chopper takes off and flies into the air.

Furious D's phone rings.

(to phone)
Hello. Morty's Morgue, you stab'em we slab'em.

It's me, the geeky, but strangely hot Chloe. I have to tell you something. Special Agent Traitor, is a real traitor.



Tuesday, 17 July 2007

The Hollywood Idiot Report!

Personally, I can see an up-side to this story...


(Andy that is)

Usually comedians are standing up on a stage making people laugh so hard that they fall over. But sometimes, as in Jon Lovitz's case, they're knocking people over by other means.

Last week Jon Lovitz beat the crap out of Andy Dick. It all happened at the legendary Laugh Factory, where the owner, Jamie Masada witnessed the whole thing. He told press, "Jon picked Andy up by the head and smashed him into the bar four or five times, and blood started pouring out of his nose."

The feud has been going on ever since beloved comedian Phil Hartman was killed by his flipped-out wife. Lovitz maintains that it was Dick that set the whole thing into motion. "Andy was doing cocaine, and he gave Brynn some after she had been sober for 10 years. Phil was furious about it - and then five months later he's dead," Jon told press.

Then, last year, there was a strange exchange between Dick and Lovitz. While dining out with friends, Lovitz says Dick came to his table and started trouble. "He looked at me and said, 'I put the "Phil Hartman hex" on you - you're the next one to die.' I said, 'What did you say?' and he repeated it. I wanted to punch his face in, but I don't hit women."

Then last week, the two encountered each other again. And Jon was looking for an apology from Dick. Instead he got more lip. When Lovitz asked Dick to say he was sorry, Andy replied with "do you want to be in my movie?" That was the last straw. "I grabbed him by the shirt and leaned him over and said, 'I don't want to be in your movie! I don't want to be in your life!' I pushed him against the rail. Then I pushed him again really hard. A security guard broke it up. I'm not proud of it . . . but he's a disgusting human being."

There's no word from Andy Dick, or any news of charges being filed.

I've always respected John Lovitz as a sketch comedy performer, but now I respect him as a man.

Hell, I'd have smacked Andy Dick for his act alone, but Lovitz had an even better reason to dole out the harshness.

Lovitz I salute you.

Sunday, 15 July 2007

Jodie Foster's Shocking Secret...

Warning, the following videos have 70s clothing, production values, and music.

Chapter 24

an ongoing literary atrocity
CHAPTER 24: Twenty-Four


On a Tuesday

But I'm not telling you which one

"Where are you taking us?" asked Playful1. It was a question she wanted answered, especially since her partner in adventure and this novel's former narrator Furious D had just taken a tumble off a cliff after being shot. GiGi on the other hand had other worries.

"I hope you know that this rope is seriously wrinkling my outfit," declared GiGi in a state of vanity fueled indignation.

Chompy the Badger shook his head and shed a little badger tear for the loss of his friend, a pal with whom he had shared many adventures and more than the occasional fatal badger mauling. Deep in his heart the badger knew that his old friend had died the way he had lived, screaming and flailing his arms madly.

"There's something odd about this chapter," said Playful1 as the villainous Gaston LaFarge's goons picked her, GiGi and Chompy up to put in a large black van.

"I know," said GiGi. "It all seems so urgent."

That's me-

-said the new author conveniently referring to himself in the 3rd person like the others before him.

"Where's Stephen King?" asked Playful1.

He realized that he was wasting his time here and went off to write another best-seller.

"Who are you?" asked GiGi.

I'm Joel Surnow, the creator of the hit TV show 24. I also created the TV version of La Femme Nikita.

"That's nice and all, but can you tell us what's happening?" asked Playful1.

Sorry, can't ruin the suspense.

The van's engine roared to life and they were sped off to points unknown.


"Double dog damn it!" howled Furious D as he pulled himself out of the thrashing waters of the bay and onto a cold hard rock. His shoulder screamed at him. Something like: "I gotta goddamn bullet in me!" but with more f-words.

Furious D looked around for something, anything he could use to treat his wound, which was also full of salty water, which naturally stung like a son-of-a-bitch being stung by angry hornets who also happen to be on fire.

Then he saw it.

It was a canvas bag lying on the nearby beach, Furious D recognized that it was more than a common bag, it was an official top-secret CTU man-purse.

Furious D got to his feet, ran to the man-purse and looked inside. In the front pocket he found a 9mm Sig Sauer automatic pistol, a cell phone, a small torch for caramelizing gourmet pastries, a pocket knife, and a pack of sterile bandages. It was everything he needed.

First Furious D drove the knife into his bullet wound. It hurt like hell was having a three-for-one sale on pain, but kept fishing around the wound for the bullet.


The bullet popped out and landed on the beach. Furious D then lit the small torch and heated the knife blade until it was white hot. He had to stop the bleeding, and though painful, it was the quickest way to get the job done, and Furious D was all about getting the job done fast.

"No I'm not," said Furious D. "I'm more along the lines of a using the cell phone to call an ambulance and get some morphine kind of guy."

Don't be a pussy.

Furious D drove the white hot blade into his gunshot wound.


"Did you hear that?" asked GiGi.

Playful1 nodded. "It sounded like a really girlish scream."

Chompy knew what that sound was and what it meant.

It meant his compadre, his muchacho, his comrade in butt-kicking was still alive.

And that meant that the folks who made him scream so girlishly were going to pay.

With interest, and penalties.

Revenge was going to be like a student loan, and Furious D would stop at nothing to collect.


When Furious D regained consciousness he was still on the beach. His shoulder wound had stopped bleeding, but it still felt like a hemorrhoid getting a rub down from Andre the Giant with large grit sandpaper.

The cell phone was ringing.

Furious D answered.

"Hello," said Furious D.

"Furious!" said Chloe the nerdy, yet strangely hot operative, from her desk at CTU HQ. "I knew we'd find you! She then turned to her supervisor and said: "And you said dropping our bags on random beaches weren't going to find him!"

"What's the sit-rep Chloe?" asked Furious D, slipping back into the chattering jargon of the job he held before he became a treasure hunting private eye vampire slayer to the stars, super butt kicking secret agent.


"What's happening?"

"Oh," said Chloe. "Right, situation report. Well, the President needs you to find the lost Albanian Budgie before Gaston LaFarge gets it and sells it to terrorists."

"Too late," replied Furious D. "Gaston LaFarge already has the Budgie and he's also kidnapped my pet badger and two of my MySpace buddies."

"He's got Chompy?" said Chloe, unable to contain her shock. "The bastard!"

"I need a chopper ASAP," said Furious D as he ran up the beach to the main road. "I can still cut them off."

"I've got good news and I've got bad news," said Chloe. "The good new is that the radar says that there is a chopper heading right for you."

"What's the bad news?" asked Furious D.

"It's belongs to LaFarge, and it's got a lot of guns."


Thursday, 12 July 2007

Chapter 23

an ongoing atrocity of a blog novel

"What are you going to do?" asked GiGi looking at the demoniacally possessed car that blocked their path, not only to freedom from the cursed vampire town, but also to the lost Albanian Budgie and possibly the salvation of the planet.

"Let me think back to the seven other times a satanic sedan has tried to kill me," replied Furious D.

"How come you've had so many encounters with satanically possessed cars?" asked Playful1.

"I tend to get on people's nerves," said Furious D. "Who's in the mood for some chicken?"

"Not me," answered Saccharine. "I grabbed a sandwich at the Salem's Lot Subway while we were torching the vampires."

"I wasn't talking about product placements," said Furious D, "I was talking about the game chicken."

Furious D hit the gas and sent their Buick 8 charging at the demonic car.

The devil car roared it's engine and charged.

Chompy the badger growled.

"I know it's a stupid idea," replied Furious D, "but we've tried all the smart ideas and look where they've gotten us. Now's the time to grab the brass ring of idiocy!"

The two great behemoths charged at each other, their engines roaring like hungry dragons. The demon car showed no sign of slowing down or swerving out of their way.

"Isn't a demon car indestructible?" asked GiGi.

"Yes it is," said Furious D.

"Then this is a really stupid idea," said Playful1.

"Not as stupid as what I'm about to do," said Furious D.

Furious D nudged the car ever so slightly to the left, putting it's right tires perfectly in line with a small ramp that had been mysteriously and conveniently placed in their path.

With the thump of metal our hero's Buick tipped over, riding on it's left tires. The demon car slipped right beneath them, defying the laws of physics and good storytelling, and became instantly mired in a pile of freshly scorched vampires.

"Next stop," said Furious D, "Smuggler's Crotch."


Furious D and his companions didn't know why the high cliff overlooking the Atlantic ocean was called Smuggler's Crotch. It didn't particularly look like a crotch, and smelled more like ass.

"We're here," said Furious D as he got out of the car. "Where's LaFarge meeting his pickup?"

"This is as far as you go," said Saccharine.

Furious D turned to see that three of his companions, Playful1, GiGi and Chompy were securely bound and gagged and Saccharine had a pistol in her hand.

"You're pretty fast with the rope," said Furious D.

"I have very skilled hands," said Saccharine.

"Why are you doing this?" asked Furious D.

"I'm the bad girl," said Saccharine, "I'm supposed to do the evil bitchy stuff."

"Thanks Saccharine," said Gaston LaFarge as he emerged from the shadows, a pistol in his hand. "I knew Furious D couldn't resist helping a damsel in distress, that's why I really left her in the town full of vampires, in order for her to lead you here to me."

"That's a pretty convoluted plan," said Furious D. "You could have just met me in the town."

"It's a good plan."

"Or ambushed me before I got to town," added Furious D.

"Will you shut up so I may gloat," said Gaston LaFarge. "I want you to see the stuff that dreams are made of before you die."

LaFarge reached into his voluminous black coat and pulled out a small golden bird.

"The lost Albanian Budgie," said LaFarge, "the key to ruling the world."

"Or destroying it," said Furious D. "You don't know what you've got there. One misstep and you and everyone else is done for."

"Maybe we should have Furious D translate the instructions before we kill him?" asked Seamus, Lafarge's other personality.

"No!" screamed LaFarge, "I will not let him live a moment longer to pester me!"

"You are bad at understanding instructions," added Seamus.

"That is a myth spread by my enemies!" screeched LaFarge. "Enemies like him!"

Gaston fired his pistol.

Furious D felt the bullet slam into his chest and he stumbled back into the blackness and certain death that lay over the cliff.

"Bwah-hah-hah!" laughed LaFarge as he watched his heroic nemesis plunge into the watery shadows over five hundred feet below.

"You're an arsehole," said Seamus.


Monday, 9 July 2007

Chapter 22: Un-Dead in the Head

6 Degrees of Decapitation
an ongoing travesty of a blog novel

Chapter 22
Vampire, vampires everywhere, and not a drop of blood to drink

Furious D opened the front door and let out a girlish scream of terror.

"I did not," said Furious D. "That was an ancient war cry."

Sure, and I look like the bastard son of Tyrone Power.

"Let's just get on with the story," said Furious D, slamming the door shut and dragging furniture to barricade it. He was barricading the door because approximately two thousand vampires were coming, and they looked hungry, and pissed.

"We're going to need more weapons," said Furious D to GiGi, Playful1 and Chompy the Badger. "More than the unusually pointy furniture and sharp objects in this room."

"We got kinda wrapped up with the vampire smashing," said Playful1.

"We haven't checked the other rooms," said GiGi.

"We better hurry," said Furious D looking out the window at the approaching horror. "They're walking very slowly, but they aren't that far."

"I have an idea," said GiGi taking a CD from the depths of her cleavage. "Toss me that boom box."

Chompy nodded and tossed GiGi a conveniently available boom box. GiGi put in the CD, cranked up the volume, and hit play.

Michael Jackson's song Thriller echoed into the night.

"Excellent," said Furious D, "they've started dancing. That'll buy us some time."

Playful1 opened the door to the kitchen.

"It's about time you looked in here," said Saccharine, chained to the wall of the kitchen.

"Saccharine?" asked Furious D, "what are you doing here?"

"That prick LaFarge traded me to the vampires for the lost Albanian Budgie," said Saccharine. "That prick. I could understand Seamus doing something like that, but I thought Gaston and I had a connection that went beyond sex, because the sex wasn't that great."

"Where's the key for the chains?" asked Furious D. "Because we have to get out of here and stop LaFarge."

"Let him have the stupid budgie," said Playful1 as she took a key ring off a hook and tossed it to Furious D.

"You don't understand," said Furious D as he unlocked Saccharine, "the budgie is more than just a golden bird statue, in the wrong hands it can bring about the end of the world."

"But LaFarge can't be that crazy," asked GiGi, "can he?"

"He's not that crazy," answered Furious D, "but he is lousy at reading directions, and that makes him dangerous."

"Then we really need to get out of here," said Playful1. "There's some cars parked outside, but there's a bunch of dancing vampires between us."

Furious D needed weapons, weapons of mass vampiric destruction. Then he opened a door.

"Bingo!" said Furious D.


"Songs over," said one of the vampires.

"Billy Jean's coming on," said another.

"Why is the sidewalk lighting up beneath our feet," asked the first vampire.

"It's a funky effect."

"Shouldn't we be going inside to eat those mortals?"

"Oh look," said the second vampire, "the mortals are coming out."

"Uh-oh," said the first vampire. "Looks like they found Count Schmenge's closet."

Suddenly a massive wave of flame engulfed the vampires. Then another one came over, burning them to a crisp.

Furious D, Playful1, GiGi, and Saccharine, marched over the scorched bones of the vampires to the parked cars.

"You know," croaked the first vampire.

"What?" moaned the second vampire.

"Having a closet full of flamethrowers was a really bad idea."

Then there was the roar of an engine as a Buick 8 came to life and started rolling, grinding the last two vampires skulls into dust.


"Where did LaFarge go?" asked Furious D.

"Somewhere on the coast," answered Saccharine, "a place called Smuggler's Crotch."

"I know where that is," said GiGi, conveniently at the wheel. "I know a shortcut."

"Where is the shortcut?" asked Playful1.

"It's right behind that demoniacally possessed car," said GiGi, pointing to the old 1950s car with the EV1L license plate. It's engine roared with hellish fury and it's headlights glowed blood red.

"Oh bugger," said Furious D.


Saturday, 7 July 2007

Chapter 21: Hell- Oh Kitty!

6 Degrees of Decapitation
an ongoing blog novel thang

Chapter 21: Salem's Least
Special Guest Author
Stephen King

Furious D's whole body tensed, his sphincter suddenly went tighter than a miser's wallet...

"Isn't that a little too much detail?" asked Furious D of the guest author.

How many best sellers have you written blog boy?

"No need to get snippy," said Furious D. "How about a hint about what's creeping around the bushes of the old Pet Cemetery?"

Now that would be too much detail.

"Fine," said Furious D in a manner that went from petulant to whiny. "And I'm not being whiny."

Furious D bent over and picked up an old mud caked spade that lying on the side of the road. At least he hoped it was mud.

"It better be mud," said Furious D to the guest author, "or you'll wish I was a truck being driven by a redneck. Now let me do something heroic."

Furious D raised the muddy spade up to strike. Whatever was lurking in the bushes was getting closer, closer....

Out came the biggest cock Furious D had ever seen!

"Not this tired old gag again?" asked Furious D, seeing the massive mutant rooster emerge from the bushes, blood and viscera dripping from it's beak. "I've already doled out the harshness on this particular piece of poultry already. Didn't you read chapters 11 and 12."

Yes. But the bird has changed. Thanks to the dark magic of the evil pet sematary it is now an undead rooster. Deadlier than ever before.

"I don't think it's that deadly," said Furious D, shaking the remains of the zombie rooster's head off the end of his shovel. "All it took was one swipe to take its head off. Oh, and by the way, that whole misspelling the word 'cemetery' is getting pretty old."

You bastard!

You killed it before I could write a big fight scene! I had it all sketched out.

"This isn't one of your 800 page hardcover doorstops," said Furious D, "this is a blog novel, you gotta get things done quick."

Oh really?

Then I shall now quickly make you face the wrath of the entire Pet Semetary!

And yes I deliberately misspelled 'cemetery' you anal retentive prick.

More rustling emerged from the bushes. Furious D's heart raced as he heard dozens, if not hundred of undead paws clawing their way out of the cursed earth of the pet cemetery.

"Paws clawing?" asked Furious D, "Isn't that sentence a bit clumsy."

I'll fix it in rewrites, now face your horrible screaming death.

Furious D shook the last bits of the undead mutant rooster off the blade of his spade and raised it to strike whatever fresh terror emerged from the bushes.


"Aah," said Furious D, "it's a cute little kitty. Smells a bit, but it doesn't look very frightening."


With a mewl of protest the zombie kitten flew off of Furious D's swinging spade, through the air and splattered against the side of an old pine tree, no doubt earning nasty comments of protest from PETZA. (People for the Ethical Treatment of Zombie Animals)

"Sheesh Stevie," said Furious D, "this old zombie hound-dog is missing two of its legs,and looks older than the dirt it crawled out of. Well, I better put it out of its misery."


"This is a goldfish," said Furious D, completely unimpressed by the horrors his guest author and nemesis was providing. "What's it going to do, flap on me?"


It's a pet cemetery what do think it'll have, lions and tigers and bears?

"Oh my," said Furious D, as he dispatched a whole litter of zombie puppies into Doggy Heaven. "Is this the best you got?"

I can do better, in fact, I can just do the rest of the chapter without you.

"Asshole!" said Furious D, furious at being cut out of his own story.

Yes, I know using Furious as a name and furious as a description is bad sentence structure, but I'll fix it in rewrites, all right.

Get off my damn back!


"Hai-Yah!" bellowed Playful1 as she drove the leg of another chair into the chest of another vampire.

"In hindsight," said the vampire seconds before he crumpled into dust, "we shouldn't have had so much wooden furniture. Aaaaargh!"

Another vampire leaped at Playfuly1 as she struggled to pull the chair leg out of her latest kill's chest.

With a roar the vampire was tackled in mid-air by a furry cannonball named Chompy T. Badger. Within seconds the nosferatu's throat was torn out and it's head popped backwards like a Pez dispenser.

"Take that," declared GiGi as she swung a machete finishing the decapitation with a mighty stroke. As the vampire's head hit the floor of the old mansion, he thought that maybe decorating the walls with machetes and axes was also a bad idea.

"Is that the last of them?" asked Playful1, picking up her battle axe.

Chompy sniffed the air and nodded. There was no one else in the house but them and the dusty bones of half a dozen recently snuffed vampires.

"What a strange night," said GiGi. "We get kidnapped by a demoniacally possessed car and taken to a town full of vampires wasn't it Playful1?"

"Yeah," said Playful1, "they were going to sacrifice us to their demon lord but then we escaped. Wasn't that a daring escape Chompy?"

Chompy shrugged, since he couldn't talk, he really couldn't participate in this piece of exposition.

"How many vampires did we kill?" asked Playful1.

"About fifty, maybe sixty." answered GiGi.

"I felt like kicking some ass," said Playful1, "taking turns knocking out Furious D every time he said something obnoxious was getting long in the tooth."

Suddenly the door burst open.

"I'll save you!" bellowed Furious D as he charged into the room, his now blood and slime caked shovel ready to strike.

"We don't need saving," said Playful1.

"Yeah," added GiGi, "where were you?"

Furious D told them that he spent the night killing puppies and kittens.

"That's a lie you clam chowder sucking bastard!" yelled Furious D, realizing that the above statement was the last thing these two women wanted to hear in a room full of weapons. "They were zombie pets trying to eat me. Not very well, mind you, but they were trying."

"Well," said GiGi, "we were smacking vampires."

"There were vampires in a house full of weapons and I missed it?" asked Furious D, disappointed at missing the carnage. "You'll pay for this Stephen King!"

Playful1 then told Furious that the entire town was controlled by vampires and that they killed all sixty or so of them.

"But the sign at the edge of town says the population is over two thousand," said Furious D.

Then everything went quiet.

Quiet except for the footsteps of over two thousand vampires coming in for the kill.

"Oh somebody is just asking for trouble!"


Inner City Pressure...

From a new show called Flight of the Conchords...

Tuesday, 3 July 2007

Chapter 20

6 Degrees of Decapitation
An Ongoing Blog-Novel Adventure

Chapter 20: The Horror of it All

"Sheesh," said GiGi dusting the dirt from her now plain jeans and surprisingly low cut t-shirt, and looking around the thick forest that surrounded her and her companions. "I feel like we've been in limbo for like 12 days or something."

"Yeah," said Furious D, scratching the stubble on his ruggedly handsome chin. "I'm still not narrating this story, but at least whoever is writing this now knows how to describe me."

"We're not in London anymore," said Playful1. "And there sure are a lot trees."

Chompy the Badger nodded and sniffed the ground, he then looked up at his long time friend and scratched some marks into the forest floor.

"Chompy says we're in Maine," said Furious D. "And if there are two things Chompy is good at, is dishing out fatal maulings and identifying American states by scent."

"Why are we in Maine?" asked GiGi.

"Could be the powers that be aren't all that familiar with Ann McCaffrey," mused Furious D. "Though I do miss the tuxedo. I looked snappy."

"What do we do?" asked Playful1.

"We should get out of these woods," said Furious D in the manner of a natural leader. "Because the sooner we get to civilization, the sooner we can find the lost Albanian Budgie and the sooner we figure out who is writing this thing now."

"I can hear cars," said GiGi, pointing to some light from between the trees.


The four wanderers found a road, a simple piece of two lane blacktop that crisscrossed the backwoods of Maine like a web laid out by an already deranged spider whacked out on a cocktail of amphetamines and mescaline. The sunset hung over the trees like a curtain soaked in the blood of madmen.

"The scene descriptions are a little more detailed than when you wrote them," said Playful1.

"You try grinding out a chapter without a clue what you're doing?" snapped Furious D, annoyed at the literary criticism.

"I'm just glad that I'm no longer killed off," said GiGi.

"There's a car coming," said Furious D, spotting a pair of headlights coming their way. "I'll wave it down and we can hitch a ride into town."

Furious D stepped to the edge of the road and waved to the oncoming car. But there was something about the car that struck Furious D as odd.

First, it was an old 1950s car with the personalized front license plate reading EV1L, and that there wasn't a driver.

"This isn't good," said Furious D, in a surprisingly calm tone, as the car's bumper slammed into him.

When Furious D regained consciousness, he thought that it was damn unfair that he was knocked out before he had a chance to make some sort of offensive innuendo.

Then he realized-

GiGi and Playful1 were gone.
So was Chompy.

But he wasn't alone.

There was something moving in the woods, by the old Pet Cemetery.

"Oh crap," said Furious D. "This damn thing's being written by Stephen King."


Australian Gardening....

This skit, from the Australian Ronnie Johns Half Hour Show shows what true commitment to a bit really is...

Scotland has never laughed so much....

Monday, 2 July 2007

Chapter 19


a blog novel thingy



"What just happened," asked Playful1, her uniform for Frogfart's University of Wizardry had been replaced by an elegant blood red evening gown.

"Yeah," said GiGi also looking confused in her hand tailored pink Chanel suit.

Furious D, agent Double XL, adjusted his black bow tie and brushed some lint from his Armani tuxedo. Chompy the Badger, hadn't changed clothes, since being a badger he didn't wear any, but he was wearing a delightful new cologne, something German, both mountain fresh and slightly dictatorial.

"I'm looking pretty sharp," said Furious D reaching into his jacket and taking out his Walther PPK pistol. "Looks like we're being rewritten by Ian Fleming."

"So where are we now?" asked GiGi.

The Hammersmith Hotel in London, said the new author, who like JK Rowling before him referred to himself in the third person.

"Let me look up the outline," said Furious D, reholstering his new pistol and fishing out a copy of the novel's outline. "Okay, we're in London, Gaston LaFarge and Saccharine are downstairs in the casino, and we're going to challenge to a game of cards for possession of the last piece of the map to the Albanian Budgie."

"We're still looking for pieces of the map?" said Playful1 in frustration. "I thought we were through with all that running around."

"Apparently not," said Furious D.

"And when did this story have an outline?" asked GiGi. "I thought this whole thing was being made up on the spot?"

*POOF* the outline disappeared in a puff of logic.

"I guess I better go downstairs," said Furious D. "Playful1, GiGi, you should take positions in the casino. And don't waste time checking out my taut, muscular behind, we have a job to do."

"I'm pretty sure we can fight that temptation," said GiGi.


Furious D strode into the casino and looked around. It was the usual collection of upscale Eurotrash playing games to fill the void of ennui that dominated their normally empty lives.

Gaston LaFarge was sitting at the main card table clad in a hand tailored Savile Row tuxedo. Next to him was his assistant Saccharine Von Vixenhoffer dressed in a low cut gown presenting the most cleavage Furious had seen since he was weened.

"What's the game?" asked Furious D.

"Poker," answered LaFarge.

"Poke her," said Furious D, "I hardly know her."

When Furious D regained consciousness he realized that some people don't appreciate bad puns about card games, and some women can punch really hard.

"What kind of poker?" asked Furious D as he sat back in his seat and fixed his hair. "Texas Hold'em?"

"Hollywood Hold'em," said Gaston LaFarge, "winner takes all, but only the gross winnings are real, net winnings are just a pipe dream."

"Okay," said Furious D, not quite getting LaFarge's attempt at pop-culture satire. He waved for a waitress.

"'old yerselrf guv'nor," screeched the waitress, "I'll be t'ere in a sec luv."

After fifteen minutes the waitress still hadn't come.

"Miss," said Furious D. "Can I place an order?"

"Blimey," said the waitress, "ain't you impatient. Yer like a bloody bunch of savages."

"I'd like a martini, shaken not stirred," said Furious D.

"Ain't you all particular like," said the waitress. "Next ting you'll be askin' fer a clean glass."

"Could you do that too?" asked Furious D.

"What are you," asked the waitress, taking a swig from a bottle of whiskey kept in her apron pocket, "the bloody Queen?"

"Perhaps another waitress should come?" asked Furious D.

"She's the nicest one," said LaFarge. "One tried to break a bottle on my head."

"Oi," screeched the waitress, "what's all tis then? You badmouthing British service?"

"Not me," said LaFarge.

"'coz Britain's number one for drunkeness, violence, and poor education in Europe," said the waitress, "we've finally got sumtin to be proud of."

"Who's writing this chapter?" asked LaFarge.

"Ian Fleming," said Furious D.

"I thought he died like forty years ago?" asked LaFarge.

"Come to think about it, he did," answered Furious D, and suddenly the whole room began to swirl.

"Come on!" said Furious D. "I haven't had a chance to use any gadgets or score any babes! This isn't fair!"

And then the story spun madly into oblivion while it waited for a live author to make something out of this pig's ear of a novel....


Chapter 18


a woefully confused blog novel thingy

CHAPTER 18: Furious Potter and the Odour of the Budgie

"Now what," said Furious D, angry at yet another annoying development in this already annoying and confusing plot. "First we end up in a synagogue in the Himalayas, then the villains show up, then Charlton Hestons pops out of nowhere, Chompy's complaining about not getting enough dialogue and fatal maulings, I accidentally wrote out one of my sidekicks and now someone else shows up to complicate things. And what the hell is with the 3rd person narration? I was narrating this story."

The story was getting confusing so I thought I'd step in.

"And you are?" asked Furious D.

JK Rowling, said the new narrator, I'm cruising for a new project now that I've killed off Harry Potter.

"You killed off Harry Potter?" asked GiGi, ruining the logic of the story like Ron Weasely with a spell.

Shit, said the new narrator, referring to herself in the 3rd person as well, I think I just blew the ending. That's gonna cost me a lotta money.

"I'm not comfortable with just handing over the narration to some guest author," said Furious D.

How does a million dollars in cash and I refer to you as 'ruggedly handsome' often in the novel.

"Toss in 'manly' and 'sexy,'" said Furious D, "and you got a deal. Now what are you going to do with this story?"

First, said JK Rowling, let's do something with this setting...

And with a flurry of rewriting our Hero and the other characters were whisked from the unlikely setting of a Himalayan synagogue to something that'll appeal better to international audiences...


"Where are we?" asked Playful1, happy that she finally got to say somethig this chapter.

"It's a school," said the ruggedly handsome Furious D in a tone that was both sexy and manly, "it's Frogfarts University for Witches and Wizards."

"Look at me?" said Charlton Heston, now recast from Temple Elder to Frogfarts Dean Anus Bumblesnore.

"Cool beard," said GiGi.

"It's left-over from the Ten Commandments," answered Bumblesnore.

"I don't know about this," said Gaston LaFarge in his Moldysnort costume, "this cape is kinda gay."

"According to this script," said Saccharine, "I'm Lucy Malljoy, junior villain."

"I'm Anemone Stranger," said Playful1, "student wizard and sidekick."

"How come I'm Dawn Sneezely," asked GiGi, "the comic relief sidekick?"

"At least you don't have a badger in an owl costume on your shoulder," said the manly Furious D in a ruggedly handsome and sexy tone. "Especially a badger that should try Slim-Fast."

Chompy flapped his arms to slap his ruggedly manly friend, but since they were stuck in the wings of an owl costume it was as futile as a muggle trying to tame a flibjabber.

"She's changed the setting to a university," said the manly and sexy Furious D in a ruggedly handsome tone of voice. "You know what this means?"

"What?" asked everyone.


"Finally," said Saccharine, "this story is starting to make sense to me."

Wait, cried the new narrator as her characters left for the liquor store, get back here, this is supposed to be a magical adventure, not a remake of Animal House.

"Toga! Toga!"


"Oh," said Seamus, Gaston LaFarge's other personality, "that was some party last night."

"Oooooh," moaned the manly Furious D in a sexily handsome... aw screw it, he sounded like crap.

"Where did this tatoo come from?" asked GiGi, "and who the hell is Sirius Bleck?"

"Damn you!" screamed Charlton Heston kneeling prostrate before the smoking stereo system, "you blew it out! Damn you all to hell!"

"Enough with the yelling," said Saccharine, "my head is killing me."

"My mouth feels like an elf pissed in it," said Gaston LaFarge.

"Sorry about that," said Nobby, the house elf, who then vanished in a puff of magic before LaFarge could throttle him.

"Who wants cold pizza for breakfast?" asked Playful1.

Look at you people, said JK Rowling, you're supposed to be locked in a life and death struggle for possession of the Albanian Budgie, not partying your drunken asses off.

"Lighten up," said Furious D, no longer described as manly, rugged, handsome, or sexy. "We've been running around like demented beavers since this damn story began, we need a break."

Well I'm quitting, said JK Rowling, I've sold off my spot as guest writer to another best selling author.

"Who?" asked Furious D.

You'll find out.


Chapter 17


a blog novel thingy


"Oh my God!" said GiGi unable to contain her shock.

"It's impossible!" added Playful1.

"I can't believe it!" said Saccharine.

"This is madness," said Gaston LaFarge.

"I can't fucking believe it!" added Seamus, Gaston's other personality.

Even Chompy's jaw dropped in disbelief.

"It's Charlton Heston," I said.

"Yes," said Heston, "but today I am playing the role of Althus, Master of the Temple of Boom."

"Don't you mean 'Doom?'" I asked.

"No," replied Heston, "Spielberg and Lucas threatened to sue."

"Bastards," I said.

"Anyhoo," continued Heston. "You are here to seek the lost Albanian Budgie."

Both LaFarge and I nodded.

"To find the Budgie you must survive the Three Trials of Three Terrible Tragedies," said Heston, "each one deadlier than the last."

"Then the winner gets the Budgie?"

"The winner must then defeat the Four Furies of Fearsome Fate," continued Heston.

"And then you get the Budgie?"

"And then you must face the Five Fiery Flames of Fiery Flaminess," added Heston.

Seamus aimed Gaston's pistol and shot Heston in the shoulder.

"Just hand over the fucking bird," growled Seamus.

"Dammit!" said Heston, who then pulled an impressive array of weaponry from the depths of his robes. "If you're gonna play that way you can take the Budgie from my cold dead hands!"

"Have it your way," said Seamus.

"Take cover!" I said diving behind some pews as bullets ripped the place apart in a ballet of death. Splinters of wood flew past me in slow motion and I hit the stone floor hard. White doves dashed out of their hiding places and flapped furiously into the night sky.

"Cut!" yelled out John Woo as he stepped into the temple. "You're doing the dive all wrong. And I need you to howl when you dive."

"I howled," I said.

"You yelped," said Woo.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I asked.

"I'm directing the shoot out," answered John Woo.

"This is a novel," I said, "not a movie. You're not supposed to be here."

"Fine," said Woo. "I'll be in my trailer."

"He gets a trailer?" said Playful1. "I didn't get my own trailer, I got a booth in the honeywagon."

"This is not a movie!" I yelled. "I'm the star, I'm the narrator, and I'm writing this damn thing. So let's get back on track with the plot."

"Someone thinks very highly of himself," said GiGi. "Especially thinking there's an actual plot to this dog's breakfast of a story."

"You know," I said, "we haven't had anyone get killed off yet."

"What about me?" said Mark Hamill, "I got crushed in Chapter 8."

"You don't count," I said, "You're not a regular character. And since you've been killed you shouldn't be here and ruining the verisimillitude."

"Fine," said Hamill before leaving in a huff.

"This is exactly the sort of thing I'm talking about," said GiGi. "You're pulling lame gags out of your ass and..."


Charlton Heston's gun went off and GiGi stumbled to the floor of the temple.

"Joke's on you!" said GiGi, "Now I get a dramatic death scene! Everyone listen to my profound and dramatic last words that will make me a memorable character..."

Suddenly the floor beneath her opened up forming a massive chasm.

"Shiiiiiiiiittttttttt!" screamed GiGi as she vanished into the chasm, enraged at being cheated out of her death scene.

"Pretty ruthless," said Playful1.

"Sometimes you have to be," I said.

"She had the keys to the rental car," added Playful1. "We'll lose our deposit if we don't get it back."

"Shit," I said, "Oh well, I'll write her back in later. Now where were we?"

"You were all about to face your doom!" said yet another voice from the shadows.

"Now what?"


Chapter 16


a blog mystery adventure thing

Chapter 16: Blood on the Snow, Snow on the Ground, Ground on the Rock, etc...

"Are we there yet?" asked Saccharine, "this icy wind is not good for my skin, and it's giving me split ends."

"We're almost there," said Gaston LaFarge as he checked his notes and his map. The lost treasure of the Albanian Budgie was almost in his steely graspy grasping grasp. "Just over one more mountain."

"That's what you said three mountains ago," replied Saccharine.

"It's not my fault that Furious D has lousy handwriting," said LaFarge. "Though everyone knows that illegible handwriting is a sign of true genius."


"Why did I say that?" asked LaFarge.

"He's narrating our scene again," said Saccharine.

"I hate it when he does that," said LaFarge. "He's such an asshole awesome genius. Dammit! Now he's rewriting my dialogue!"

"Let's keep going," said Saccharine, "maybe if we don't do anything interesting he'll go narrate someone else. Though I do wish he didn't write me wearing a miniskirt and a tube top in the Himalayas it's frikkin' freezing."

"I'm not complaining," said LaFarge.

When LaFarge regained consciousness he realized that Saccharine had taken his winter coat.

"I hate it when he departs from first person narration."



GiGi stepped back from the heavy oak door of the abandoned Himalayan synagogue. Outside, our hero, the dashing, handsome swashbuckler, private eye and over all sex machine Furious D was battling for his life against a pack of enraged Yeti. GiGi was feeling a little guilty about forcing him outside to face certain death at the hands of semi-mythical beast men.

"I'm feeling a little guilty about forcing him outside to face certain death at the hands of semi-mythical beast men," said GiGi.

"I know," said Playful1, "I read the narration."

"Wait a minute," said GiGi. "If Furious D is outside getting a royal ass whupping, who is narrating this scene?"

Playful1 shrugged.

"Post modern fiction is pointlessly confusing," said GiGi. "I thought it was annoying enough when he was narrating LaFarge and Saccharine's scenes."

Suddenly the door burst open. The bar splitting into a thousand splinters.

"Furious D!" exclaimed my two sidekicks.

"Yeah it's me," I said, tossing the carcass of a dead Yeti at their feet. "The abominable snowmen are all dead."

"How did you beat them all?" asked Playful1.

"Kicking ass is my business," I replied, dragging in another carcass. "And business was mighty good tonight."

"Why are you bringing them in here?" asked GiGi.

"Yeti pelts make great carpeting," I answered. "Don't you know where shag carpeting comes from?"

"Now I wish I don't," said Playful1.

"Plus," I added, "they taste like a salty beef."


"Don't be a baby."

"I'll be deciding who gets to be a baby tonight," said a voice behind me.

I spun around and saw my arch-foe Gaston LaFarge, his femme-fatale partner Saccharine, and an assortment of goons. All of them were pointing guns at us.

"So," said LaFarge. "Who'd have guessed that we'd both end up in the temple where the Albanian Budgie was hidden?"

GiGi raised her hand.

"I did," she said. "Furious D's a lazy writer. And I'm a big poopy-head. Oh very grown up Mr. Narrator."

"Well," I said to LaFarge, "what do we do next?"

"I'm leaning towards shooting you," said LaFarge. "Then taking the Budgie for myself."

Saccharine coughed.

"For me and Saccharine," he added.

"NOT SO FAST!" boomed a voice from the depths of the temple.

All of us looked into the shadows and gasped in surprise.


Chapter 15


a blog adventure mystery thriller novel thingamabob


"Was that really the cry of the Yeti?" asked Playful1.

"Yes," I answered.

"You're not shitting us?" asked GiGi.

"I shit you not," I said.

"I can't believe that we're lost in the Himalayas with a Yeti," said Playful1.

"Thanks for the recap," I said. "Now can we finish climbing this mountain? We have a villain to foil and treasure to find."

"I got nothing better to do," added GiGi with a shrug.

"Yeah," added Playful1. "According to Jim is in reruns anyway."

"Then let's go," I said, turning to come face to face with a fearsome looking Yeti. It looked down at me with fearsome eyes, and bared its mighty teeth. And let me tell you, an extra breath mint would have been really welcome at that moment.

"ROOOOAAAARRR!" bellowed the massive beast.

"Looking for a scrap, eh?" I said, setting my fists to 'anhialate.' "Come on girls and Chompy, there's only one of them, we can take him."

I turned to see only footprints where GiGi, Playful1 and Chompy stood, and they were heading away from me and the Yeti.

"Son of a..." I was about to say something nasty when the giant Yeti said something surprising.

"Friend?" muttered the Yeti, holding his hands out in peaceful supplication.

"Oh," I said, "you want me to be your friend?"

"Yes," grunted the Yeti, "and if you become my friend you can visit my website and see sexy webcam pics of all my hot friends for only $19.99 a month."

This was even worse than I thought. Luckily I had my climbing pistol.


The Yeti-Spammer's brains painted a gooey red and pink streak across the normally pink snow. The hairy beast fell over like a big hairy tree and landed in the snow with a thud. I was just about to take a whiz on the dead creature for wasting my time with spam when a voice came from behind me.

"Need any help Furious?" asked GiGi from her hiding place, Chompy the Badger was also hiding in her sweater and was refusing to come out.

"Now you come to help," I said sarcastically.

"Are you okay?" asked Playful1.

"Yes," I said, "turned out to be a pr0n spammer yeti."

"Eeeew," said the girls.

"Can I have a moment of privacy," I said, "I need to make a last statement about our bogus friend here, and you're making me pee shy."


A minute later we were back on our trail heading for the lost Albanian Budgie. The wind was whipping us hard, forcing us to find shelter. I don't know where the wind got the whips, or how it was able to hold them, but that didn't matter. We needed to get indoors fast.

"There's a small abandoned temple over there," I said, pointing to the small abandoned temple in a fit of repetitive narration. We ran to the small stone building, and I slammed the heavy wooden door behind us. I heaved up a heavy wooden beam and used it to bar the door, so the wind or anything else couldn't open it without our permission.

"Wait a minute," said GiGi, "this isn't a Buddhist temple, it's a Jewish synagogue."

"Maybe that's why it's abandoned," I said. "Not enough of a congregation in the Himalayas. It's almost night, we should make camp here. Now who wants to share my sleeping bag?"

When I regained consciousness I decided that there were enough sleeping bags for everyone. I also noticed that GiGi and Playful1 had a campfire ready and were roasting marshmallows.

"How's your head?" asked GiGi.

"Surprisingly resilient," I said, wondering how many brain cells were left. "I think I'll have one of those pre-made dinners."

Playful1 tossed a small plastic package and I took it over to the microwave oven. I was just about to ask where the microwave and the electricity to run it had come from when there was a heavy thud on the door.

"Furious D!" growled a voice from outside. Followed immediately by a chorus of other nasty animalistic voices. It sounded auditions for a boy band out there, but I knew what it was.

"It's the Yetis!" I said. "They've come for revenge for spoiling their friend spam-scam."

"How do they know your name?" asked Playful1.

"I think writing it in the snow next to their dead friend was a tactical error on my part," I said.

"What do we do?" said GiGi. "That door can't hold them out forever."

"They want me," I said. "I'll go out and face them. Maybe they'll spare you."

"Great idea," said the girls, and Chompy nodded.

"You know," I said, "it's tradition for you to try to stop me from making the ultimate sacrifice."

"We're not traditional people." said Playful1 opening the door.

The next thing I knew my butt was out in the cold snow, it was dark, the wind howled like a madman, and I was surrounded by angry, hungry eyes.

"Fine," I said, "if this is my doom, bring it on beeotch!"


Chapter 14


a nonsensical blog-novel thingy that shouldn't offend anyone since the main character is the biggest idiot in the story... really...


I remember everything spinning, the story not making sense anymore, and then the plane George Lucas has kindly loaned us crashed for reasons too nonsensical to repeat.

"Are you okay?" I asked my companions GiGi and Playful1.

"I'm okay," said Playful1. "I landed on something bouncy... why does this plane of a bunch of inflatable Princess Leias?"

I shrugged and turned to GiGi.

"I'm okay," said GiGi, "my big hair cushioned the impact. Thank god for quadruple strength hairspray."

Chompy, my part-time partner in crime-busting and full time badger gave me a thumbs up. At least he wasn't talking anymore.

"I'm going to see what's outside," I said as my manly muscles forced open the hatch. I looked outside and saw a bunch of people staring at us. I turned back to my companions. "It looks like we crashed somewhere in India. I better handle talking to the natives."

I stepped out of the wreckage of the plane and held my hands up high. "Do not be afraid. I have come from the sky."

"Are you all right?" asked one of the natives.

"Yes," I said, "and I am glad you speak my language. I'm Furious D."

"I'm Avinash Sanjayaputrapetallan," answered the native.

"There's no way that could possibly pronounce that or spell it correctly ever again in the narration, so I will call you Bob," I said, giving him a friendly pat on the shoulder.

"You crushed my Lexus," said the native I christened Bob, "and what the hell are you talking about?"

"Yes Bob," I said, "our flying machine crashed." Using the international language of hand gestures to explain our situation.

"I know your plane crashed," answered Bob, "you came in a tailspin like someone had wrecked your avionics, and then you crushed my new car. And why are you waving your hands like an idiot, are you all right?"

"We've lost count of the number of times he's been knocked on the head," said GiGi, coming up behind me.

"Relax," I told GiGi. "I have everything under control." I then turned back to Bob and said: "I know our ways and advanced technology seem strange and magical to you..."

"Who do I sue about my car?" asked Bob, "my iPod, my laptop, and my Blackberry were in there. I needed the laptop and the Blackberry for my meeting with Lockheed Martin, and your friend Furious is babbling like an idiot."

"Look for a guy named Gaston LaFarge," said Playful1, "he sabotaged our plane at the end of the last chapter."

"I thought that was Seamus?" asked GiGi.

"Same difference," said Playful1.

Chompy nodded.

"I think your friend might need a doctor," said Bob, pointing at me, "my wife's a neurosurgeon and from what she's told me, I think he's having some sort of episode."

"I am not having an episode," I said, "I'm having a chapter. This is a novel, not a TV show."

"I'm calling for an ambulance," said Bob, taking out a cell phone.

"I'm fine Bob," I declared, "so you can tell that purple octopus on your shoulder to stop dancing the marimba... why is the ground spinning?"

Then I passed out.


"Okay," said GiGi, opening the door to my padded cell. "I convinced the judge to let you go."

"Great," I said, my voice slightly muffled by the straight-jacket I was trying to wriggle out of. "How did you do it?"

"I wore a low cut top," said GiGi. "And I told him that you're not an obnoxious and ignorant lunatic, but a run of the mill idiot with multiple head injuries."

"Great story," I said.

"What story?" asked GiGi. "Anyway, we have to leave the country, Playful1 and Chompy are talking to a travel agent. Do you want me to help you get out of that straight jacket."

"No," I said as I finally slipped off the straight-jacket, "but you could snap my shoulder back into place. I appear to have dislocated it in my escape."

"Sure," said GiGi, taking my arm.


When I regained consciousness I was in the back of a rented red Range Rover running roughly over a road.

"He's finally awake," said Playful1.

"How's your shoulder?" asked GiGi.

"Fine," I said, hiding the pain behind a mask of stoic masculinity, and anyone who says that I was crying like a little girl is a damn dirty liar. "Where are we heading?"

"The Mumbai airport," said Playful1 who was driving the car. "I thought we have to go to China."

"We're still in India?" I asked.

"Yep," answered Playful1.

"Then we can use a shortcut to my shortcut," I said, "turn this car around. We have to go to Himalayas!"

"That's on the other side of a massive subcontinent," said GiGi. "It would take us days to drive there."

"Don't worry," I said, "I know a shortcut to the shortcut to my shortcut."

"Now you're making as much sense as the last chapter," said Playful1.

"Come on," I said, in a tone that was in no way whiny. "I've been made to look like a complete asshole so far this chapter, I need to be right about something or what's the point of this whole ego-trip."

"Fine," said Playful1, pulling a U-turn.

"Now turn left past the Bollywood musical number," I said, pointing to a side street.


One hour and fifteen minutes later we were at the base of the Himalayan Mountain range, and that included an hour shopping for gear at Wal-Mart's mountain climbing department. Most of that time looking for a snowsuit in hot-pink for GiGi.

"You do know that this is a heavily guarded border," said Playful1.

I shrugged as I zipped up my new mountaineering jacket. "Shouldn't be that hard."

"I guess after all we've done violating an international border is minor," said GiGi.

"Besides," I said, "we don't want the Budgie to fall into evil hands."

"Actually," said Playful1, "I'm sort of ambivalent on that issue. I mean I'd like to kick his ass for trying to kill us all those times, but Budgie wise, I don't really care."

"We won't have a story if we don't go," I said.

An hour later we were halfway up Mount Fistinyerface, the nastiest peak in the whole mountain range. Then we heard something that made my blood congeal in terror.


"What was that?" asked GiGi.

"That was the call of the Yeti," I answered.

"The Yeti!" said Playful1. "That's sound scary."

"You know what's scarier," I said, "that was a mating call."


Chapter 13


a parody-adventure mystery blog-novel thing which has no connection to reality, good writing, or anything worthy of litigation.


"A toast, to evil, Madame Saccarine," said Gaston LaFarge, large and in charge of his body again, as he clicked his champagne glass against hers.

"To evil," replied Madame Saccarine. "I hope that mutant rooster of yours doesn't make too much of a mess in my bordello."

"Once we have the budgie," said LaFarge as he adjusted the seat on his private jet en route to China, "you won't have to worry about roosters or their messes."

"What if Furious D somehow beats your cock?" asked Saccharine, having no idea of the humour embedded in the sentence.

"If he beats my cock," said LaFarge, "then he'll have to face some ninjas I hired to slice him into ribbons."

"You think of everything," said Saccharine.

"Well I think we were lucky to find each other on that dating web site," added LaFarge wistfully. "It's hard for a man like me to find a woman that is as interested in fisting as I am."

"Don't you mean fishing?" asked Saccharine.

"Yeah," said LaFarge, "I said 'fishing'that's it, just fishing."

"I just realized something," said Saccharine.


"If Furious D is getting killed in Cannes," asked Saccharine, "then who is narrating this scene."

"Yeah," said LaFarge, looking around. "What the hell is going on here. You can't have a first person narrator describing scenes he's not in. It's not good writing in fact it's a complete load of---


"That was one hell of a fight," said GiGi as we stepped out of the rented limo onto the tarmac of the Cannes airport. George Lucas's plane was fuelled and waiting for us.

"Yep," I said while laconically brushing a piece of ninja cowl off my suit. "But I've been in wilder ones."

"I can't believe I punched so many ninjas," said Playful1, cleaning off her new ninja sword. "Catching those throwing stars out of the air was pretty cool."

"It's nothing for someone with cat-like reflexes like mine," I said modestly, "and they're called shuriken, if you want to be accurate."

"Aren't I silly," said Playful1, "tee-hee."

"Let's not forget Chompy," said GiGi, holding the sleeping badger in her arms. "He took out five of them. And if he hadn't gotten the one with the flamethrower, we'd all be toast."

"He always sleeps like a log after a good night of brawling and mauling," I said as we boarded the plane, "by the time he wakes up, we'll be in China."

"Don't you think that skipping a massive fight scene is a bit of a cheat?" asked GiGi.

"Fight scenes are a lot of work," I answered, "and it's late and I'm tired."

"We're all set for Beijing sir," announced the pilot over the intercom, "fasten your seatbelts."


"Wake up Furious!" screamed a woman's voice.

Tyra Banks stopped feeding me grapes and said. "Who's yelling, it's completely spoiling my horny."

I was just about to find out when I woke up...

"What's happening?" I asked, rubbing my sleepy eyes.

"The pilot bailed out while we were asleep," screamed GiGi, hysterical with fright. "We're somewhere over Asia, and we're gonna crash!"

"Again?" I asked. "Damn it!"

"The controls have been smashed," said Playful1. "And the parachutes are gone."

"Why did the pilot betray us?" I asked.

"Because I was never working for you?" said Seamus.


"That's right," said Seamus. "I took you up disguised as your pilot, then I bailed out, leaving you to die! Bwah-hah-hah-hah-hah!"

"Wait a minute," I said. "How can you be explaining this if you bailed out? And how the hell could you have disguised yourself as a pilot when you're just a mental abberation of a guy who is thousands of miles away and has no flying ability?"

"How do I know," said Seamus, "I didn't write this shit. Gotta go now, because apparently my presence here doesn't make any narrative sense."

And with that Seamus left, and with Seamus left any chance of this story making a lick of logical sense.

"We're all gonna die!" screamed GiGi.

Chompy slapped GiGi across the face and screamed: "Get yourself together!"

"Wait a minute," said GiGi, calming down, "Chompy doesn't talk, he's a badger."

"Great," I said, "I'm going to die and not only will it be a pointless death, but it will completely lack verisimilitude."

"What's very sill mill vanilli?" asked Playful1.

"Verisimilitude is..."

And then the plane crashed.