Monday, 2 July 2007

Chapter 11-Creative Bankruptcy


A blog-novel mystery-thriller adventure thang


I hate days where I fall through a trap door into certain death.

I really hate days when I get stuck halfway through the trap door.

"Two words Furious D," said my mortal enemy Gaston LaFarge, "Slim-Fast."

"You're not exactly svelte yourself there LaFarge," I said, trying to hold onto what little was left of my dignity, and wondering why I would include this in a story I was writing.

"I have an excuse," said LaFarge defensively, "my other personality likes his carbs."

"Shut yer cake-hole," barked LaFarge's other personality, an Irishman named Seamus, who then clocked himself on the head with his own pistol. LaFarge went limp and almost fell on the floor, but straightened himself out.

"Now that Frenchy LaFarge is knocked out we can talk like civilized men. I'll make you a deal," said Seamus, now fully in charge.

"Wait a minute," I said, pulling myself out of the trapdoor. "How can you knock Lafarge out and stay conscious, you share the same head?"

"Oh," said Seamus, "like you really care about scientific accuracy in this story. Now let's talk deal."

"What kind of a deal?" I asked.

"One where you translate this map," said Seamus, pulling a scroll of ancient papyrus out of his coat pocket. "And then I let you and your friends GiGi and Playful1 go home."

"That's all?" I asked.

"Sure," said Seamus with a smile.

"Do what he says," said GiGi, surrounded by Seamus/LaFarge's leering gunmen. "I don't like the way they're staring at my chest. It's not that brainless drooling stare you do."

"I want to get home too," added Playful1. "I have a lot of cats that need feeding."

"You should listen to them," purred Saccharine as she slinked her way to Seamus/LaFarge's side. "The Budgie means nothing to you, so what harm could translating that last part of the map do you?"

"All right," I said, knowing when I've been licked, this time by a cocker spaniel named Defeat. "Let me see the map, a note pad, and a pen."

Seamus passed me the map while Saccharine passed me a notepad and a pen. A few quick notes later and the map was translated.

Seamus snatched the notepad from my hand and looked it over.

"This looks right," said Seamus. "I'd like to thank you Furious D. You're a credit to private dicks everywhere. Now it's time for you to die!"

"Hey," I said, "you said we had a deal!"

"Yeah," said Seamus with a shrug, "but the thing is, though LaFarge and I have very different personalities, we're both assholes."

"Damn," I said. "What are you going to do, shoot me?"

"Nothing that banal," said Seamus, "I have a fate for you and your friends that is very suitable. When I saw it, it reminded me of you."

Saccharine hit a button on her desk, and a bookshelf slid apart, revealing the rat face doorman and...

"Sweet Zombie Monkey-nuts," said GiGi in stunned awe. "That has to be the biggest cock I've ever seen!"

"I've never seen a cock that big!" exclaimed Playful1.

"I've seen bigger," I said nonchalantly.

"It the largest and most vicious genetically engineered fighting rooster the world has ever seen," said Seamus, affectionately stroking his mighty cock. "It can tear apart a Volkswagen with its beak, plus it allows us to use a lot of double entendres for cheap laughs."

"So you got a big chicken," I said, not falling for the old double entendre trap.

"I'd love to stay and watch my giant cock peck you to death," said Seamus, "but Madam Saccharine and I have a date with another bird. A certain Albanian Budgie to be exact."

With that Seamus/LaFarge and his goons left. Leaving me, Playful1, and GiGi alone with the giant mutant monster chicken and his handler, the rat faced doorman.

"So this is your real specialty," I asked rat-face, "handling other men's cocks?"

"My name iz Marcel," declared the doorman. "And I'm sick of you calling me rat-face in the narration! Go get him!"

Marcel let go of the giant rooster's leash and the beast lunged at me, it's beak snapping like a giant snapping thing.

"We're doomed!" declared Playful1. "Doomed as doomed can be! I'll never see all 27 of my cats again!"

"Don't worry," I said, "we have a secret weapon hidden in GiGi's bra! CHOMPY! Get the cock!"

Chompy, my loyal badger friend leapt from the depths of GiGi's cleavage and went right for his target like a meat seeking missile.

Marcel's rat-face convulsed in pain as he screamed a high falsetto.

"Wrong co-" I was about to say, when I felt a giant rooster beak close on my neck.

The damn thing got me.

I was a goner for sure.


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