Monday, 2 July 2007

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.


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