Monday, 2 July 2007

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."


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