Saturday, 11 August 2007

Chapter 27

I fell to the ground and felt the wind shot out of me as the assassin doorman Marcel drove his boot into my gut.

Then I realized.

The story was no longer being done like a teleplay. Joel Surnow must have left to go back to 24, leaving me to narrate my story once again.

And when the narrator's telling the story, all bets and any semblance of realism are off.

Using skills derived from my break-dancing days as "Groovy D" I balanced my taut muscular body on my lying head and spun.

My foot made contact several times over with Marcel's heavily bandaged face, then his face made contact with the ground.

Marcel tried to get up, then his head fell off.

That was unexpected.

Seeing that my fight was over, I rushed down the road to rescue the others.


"Hey," said GiGi. "Furious D is narrating again, and he's narrating scenes he's not in again. I wish he'd stop that, it completely ruins the... um, what's word?"

"Verisimilitude?" said the cougar that had been stalking her.

"That's it," said GiGi, "Very-similar-tube. Wait a minute cougar, are you going to try to eat me?"

"Let's see how the mauling works out first," said the cougar, baring its fangs and claws.

"What is a cougar doing in the Maine woods anyway?" asked GiGi, realizing that she had nowhere to run.

"Don't ask me," said the cougar, "I didn't write this crap."

"Is that a gun?" asked GiGi.

"No," answered the cougar, "I'm just happy to see you. Of course it's a gun. Like I said before, I didn't write this crap."

"That's my job," I bellowed, my heroic baritone echoing off the trees as I did my patented flying kick, knocking the pistol from the cougar's paw.

"Fine," said the cougar, baring its claws again, "I couldn't have used it anyway since I don't have opposable thumbs."


"But I do," said GiGi, pulling the trigger on the cougar's pistol again, putting another bullet into the beast's back.

"Remember me," croaked the cougar with his last breath, "as an oddity of nature."

"Thanks GiGi," I said, "but I'm still taking the credit for rescuing you."

"Oh fiddlesticks."

"Now let's go save the others," I said.

"But they're miles away and we don't have a vehicle," said GiGi, "how are we going to get there."

"We'll break for a commercial," I answered.



"You're my hero Furious D," said Playful1 as I undid the last her bonds that... uh... bonded her to a chair tied to a bomb. "And I'm not just saying that because you're writing my dialogue. I really mean it because you expertly defused that bomb, then re-fused it, and tossed it into that bus load of dangerous criminals."

"They'll never book a package tour like that again," I said.

"There's a missile heading for the White House," exclaimed GiGi pointing to a TV that was covering the impending apocalypse live.

"Let's go!"


"Man that missile is taking its sweet time coming here," said the President.

"Shouldn't we be running away," said one of his aides.

"Naw," said the President, "Furious D is on the case, he always cuts it a little close, but he always comes through in the end."

"But this isn't the end," said the aide. "We don't know how much longer he'll keep this literary train wreck going."

"Oh shit," said the President, "that means I can be killed off and replaced by a snivelling underling who will undermine Furious D at every turn. RUN FOR IT!"

"Who's narrating this scene anyway?" asked the aide.


"We're too late," I said as I watched the missile draw closer to the White House.

"I told you that we didn't have time for lunch," said Playful1.

"We would have had the time if someone could make up their mind from a simple menu!"

"You did that." said GiGi.

"I'm the hero," I said, "you're not supposed to bring up my mistakes."

GiGi pulled a pair of binoculars from her ample cleavage and looked up at the missile.

"There's something on the missile!"

I took the binoculars from GiGi and looked for myself.

"You could have said 'please,'" said GiGi, "or at least let me get the strap from around my neck."

"Great Caesar's Colostomy Bag!" I exclaimed. "It's Chompy!"

Chompy, my old friend, compadre, and badger was on the missile, forcing open a panel with his claws. He was trying to disarm it.

Suddenly the missile veered off its target, flew into the sky, and exploded in a brilliant flash.

Chompy had been blown to smithereens, and with him the answer to his cliffhanger from the last chapter.

"CHOMPY!" I bellowed.


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