My old story has returned, so I'll share it. Warning- really, weird.

[Deranged Nasat]

I'm in such a good mood! . I was searching through old files from when I first got my computer, and I found the old story I wrote for my friends and sister when I was in school (which isn't too long ago of course...). I was quite well known for my very...odd and totally random humour, and they all loved my story. So I thought I'd pull it out and share it here, as an insight into my rather silly sense of teenage humour and a clue as to how weird I truly was, sorry, am!

The story is a comic mockery of fantasy-magic-quest-prophecy-chosen one tales. So, reproduced here on my nostalgia high, is "The Adventure of Donny Tulip".




Chapter One: Donny Tulip’s adventure begins.
Once upon a time, balanced very carefully lest it should fall off and sprain its ankle, there was a prophecy. Lest you should be bored already, because prophecies are too cliché, let me explain further. It was a mystical, magical prophecy, a prophecy handed down from purple badger to purple badger to purple badger to the hunter who shot all the purple badgers, to his son, to his son, and finally to Mr. Henry Tulip, who promptly forgot it. This was unfortunate, as the prophecy concerned his son, Donny Tulip. For Donny Tulip was the boy destined to save the world from the forces of evil, a totally original storyline I just invented.

One day, Donny Tulip was walking home from school with his friends Tom, Sam, and Wilbur when the sky darkened, birds fell silent, and a mysterious space probe labelled “Experimental Probe. Not in any manner evil” fell to earth in front of them. Donny, who was a somewhat shy and retiring boy, was scared out of his wits.

“Ahhhh!! Oh, s**t, where did that come from?” he cried, trying to slow his racing heart.

“It just fell out of the air” said Tom, also somewhat shaken.

The four children looked closer. A burning crater was now a permanent feature of the road, and within it sat the probe, smoking slightly. It was really quite small, about the size of a small mysterious probe lying in a crater before a boy named Donny, perhaps slightly bigger. Donny stared at it. Already, he could hear sirens as some government-authorized vehicles sped towards the scene.

“I guess we’d better stay around and tell them what happened” said Tom, looking to his friends for confirmation. But Donny didn’t hear him. He was simply transfixed by the symbol etched onto the side of the probe. Somehow, and he was unable to explain why, it held him in its power. The symbol was a frog smoking a cigar. Donny was suddenly stricken by a dreadful certainty. The approaching authorities could not reclaim the probe. They simply couldn’t. Plot demands so. He said as much to Tom, Sam and Wilbur, somewhat urgently, and he grabbed the probe in his arms and started to run with it.

“Where are you taking it, Donny?” asked Sam. Donny stopped, pondering rapidly. He couldn’t just take it home, he knew. His mum and dad would say “what’s that mysterious probe you’re carrying” and there was no easy answer to that. Instead, Donny knew suddenly, he must take it to Professor Emu’s laboratory. Professor Emu was well known around town for his knowledge of mysterious symbols and other related stuff. He would be able to tell Donny why the symbol of the frog was so important.

“Follow me”, he called to his friends, and then ran off in the direction of the laboratory. What he didn’t know, what he couldn’t know, was that the authorities had just taken a picture of him fleeing the scene with the probe, and using a computer, they, that very night, identified him. He didn’t know it yet, but he was on the run in another, more serious way. Which computer did they use? Your computer. Yes, yours. So well done, reader. Lax security aids bad guys. Remember that. If he gets hurt, it’s on your conscience.

Chapter Two: Enter the Villainous Order of 13

Meanwhile, in the dark, dark room down the dark, dark corridor of the dark, dark wing of the dark, dark conference building in the Land of Evil, the Villainous Order of 13 was meeting. They’re the bad guys. It was a peculiarly calm meeting, considering the appalling setback they had experienced, and indeed much tension bubbled under the surface in the minds of the more junior members. They remained eerily controlled and collected, however, for Teppup himself chaired the conference, and, as ever, he radiated an awesome self-control. No-one would dare make an impassioned fool out of themselves while Teppup was present. And so the Order sat quietly and awaited Teppup’s comments.

The membership of the Villainous Order of 13 was as follows:

1.Teppup, ominous Big Bad, dark and awesome leader of the order.
2. Mr. Prettybuttercup, the internationally renowned and feared street fighter, as broad as he was tall and as likely to mould you a new face as he was broad.
3. Captain Unpleasant, the infamous pirate chieftain (the very existence of his vocal chords is a source of horror to well-mannered old ladies and clergymen everywhere).
4. Baron Jean-Jason von Wonky-Bonky, that well known treacherous cucumber of ambiguous European heritage.
5. Lady Darkness, the femme fatal, able to seduce any man and enslave him with her evil charms. In case you hadn’t guessed, lots of black leather here.
6. The Turtle.
7. Richard Nixon. Not that one, it’s a coincidence.
8. Sane Professor Mad, the expert scientist. Totally disturbed and unusual, he doesn’t even have brains in jars.
9. General Purple. Red flows the blood, and he gives you the Blues. Mix them together, and you have the eminently fashionable General Purple.
10. ???, the bratty, sadistic kid who never got a name, but has extra attitude to make up for it.
11. Magic, Magic E, master of wizardry and manipulation.
12. The Snitch. Everyone hates him.
13. Your computer.

Teppup rose slowly, and the official meeting began.

“I bid you Dark Greetings. Here is the situation, my friends. The Probe of Power has fallen from its orbit. An orbit I was assured by my expert scientist and military strategist was secure and stable”.

Paling slightly, Sane Professor Mad shifted in his seat, whereas General Purple nervously picked at his expertly frilled shirt. The Turtle simply watched.

Teppup continued, slowly moving his imposing figure around the room, drawing all eyes to him. “Now our plan is in grave jeopardy. People are beginning to question the motives of WorldConquest’n’Enslavement INC, accusing our spokesmen of working with unsafe materials. Not only this, but the top secret information contained within the Probe of Power is in the hands of a child who may be the prophesised one himself. All that we have worked for is threatened”.

Teppup glared ominously around the room, before concluding in a terrifying whisper, “I need solutions, people”.

“We need to get that boy” said Baron von Wonky-Bonky, twirling his moustache.

“I could seduce the boy’s father and influence him into signing him over to us for adoption” said Lady Darkness, seductively.

“No” said Teppup, “because I know you, Lady Darkness. You’ll hypnotise the man with your feminine wiles and animalistic pheromones, make him your willing slave..., and then you’ll cackle insanely, set him on fire, kick him down the stairs and laugh in the face of the police. Seduction and all-out-villainy are difficult to balance. We need a different plan”.

“Yaarrh, I could set upon ‘im with me f***ing pirate vessel, snatching ‘im from the mo********ing streets before he could cry ***&%!!*!” said Captain Unpleasant.

“No” said Teppup, “because I know you, Captain Unpleasant. You’ll arrive in your pirate vessel, having drunk all the rum, and you’ll vomit all over the street, cursing at the top of your lungs and leering at appalled little old ladies. Then you’ll molest a puppy. Blatant unpleasantness and subtle villainy do not balance well”.

“I suggest the nuclear option” said General Purple, ironing his pink woollen socks. Everyone ignored him
“What’s the boy’s name?” asked ???, “I bet its original and unusual. I hate kids with original or unusual names”.

“His name is Donny Tulip” said the Snitch, “but I didn’t tell you nuffin”.

“The solution is obvious, my chums” said Baron von Wonky-Bonky, “we must convince him to join us”.

“There can be no resistance to our ideology once he eyes my carefully polished and oh-so-stylish military attire” sniggered General Purple, playing with the tie-on-doily dangling from his hat.

“How can someone with the sort of name like Tulip join us?” whined the Snitch, “People named after flowers can’t be evil”.

There was a terrible dead silence. The Snitch, suddenly realizing his mistake, began sweating buckets, his eyes bulging. Mr. Prettybuttercup rose ominously from his seat, his left fist grinding pointedly into his right palm.

“Sit down, Mr. Prettybuttercup” ordered Teppup, “we’ve more immediate concerns”.
Prettybuttercup obediently did so, but only after pointing at the Snitch and saying, “You’re goin’ down, buddy”.

As the Snitch gulped, Teppup turned back to the main issue. “Any scientific solutions, Sane Professor Mad?”

“I suggest a careful and well-researched regime of scientifically tested medically-approved drugs to alter his brain chemistry, with no weird and expensive mind-control contraptions with multiple parts, ominous names or electric currents” said Sane Professor Mad.

“Good, very good” purred Teppup, “prepare it.” He chuckled in that way he had, and everyone shuddered. The Turtle simply watched.

Teppup then moved onto the secondary issue. “As mentioned, we’ve lost the approval of the people. What, I ask, are we to do about the public?”

“Yarrrhh, f**k ‘em” declared Captain Unpleasant.

“No”, suggested Baron von Wonky-Bonky gravely, “we must get them back on our side. Can’t Nixon use his extensive experience as a public speaker and motivational leader...?”

“How many times do I have to tell you” whined Nixon, “I’m not that Richard Nixon. It’s a coincidence. I’m not a leader”. “Stupid Ford” he added to himself.

“I could seduce...” began Lady Darkness hopefully, but Teppup glared her into silence.

“If people don’t start listening to me” she whispered to Nixon, “I’m going to sue for discrimination against stereotypical, somewhat offensive female character templates”.

Nixon considered something. “Couldn’t you just use your powers of seduction to convince us all to go along with your plan?” he asked, confused, “after all, we’re all men and- PLOT HOLE DETECTED. IGNORE. IGNORE. IGNORE.

“I think the villain you’re looking for here is me” inserted Magic, Magic E quietly.

Baron von Wonky-Bonky nodded. “We all know you are a master of spin, Magic, Magic E. Indeed, it can be said to be the very backbone of your talents, for Spin becomes Spine with you”.

Magic, Magic E inclined his head in acknowledgement of the compliment, but said nothing else. The Turtle simply watched.

“Very well then” said Teppup, “the plan is as follows. Mr. Prettybuttercup will kidnap Donny Tulip on the way to school tomorrow. General Purple will then show the boy his dazzling gold-tipped shoe laces and stunning lilac velvet bow-tie in order to lower his resistance. Sane Professor Mad will then use carefully-administrated scientifically-sound medicines to transform him into our willing agent. ??? will dress up as Donny and take his place at school, so he is not missed. ”

Teppup looked around slowly, meeting his fellow’s eyes, searching for objections, but he found none, even in ???’s, who didn’t realize he was being replaced.

“Then we are agreed” he said softly. “Meanwhile, Magic, Magic E will manipulate the public into once more supporting our program of space exploration”.

“Yaaarhhh, what be the f***ing solution to the reader?” asked Captain Unpleasant.

“Yeah” said Nixon, “they’re listening in to everything we say”.

“Never fear” said Teppup, “Their Computer will confuse them, isn’t that so, Your Computer?”

“0100001100” affirmed Your Computer, who was already cooking up a hive of distracting software and program errors. The Order all laughed evilly. The Turtle simply watched.

 

[Deranged Nasat]

Re: My old story has returned, so I'll share it. Warning- really, weir

Chapter Three: Exposition from Emu.

The sky was darkening by the time Donny and his friends reached the laboratory of Professor Emu. It was a rather dusty old place on the edge of town, forgotten by all save those who were fond of the quirky old professor. Donny was one such person, and he was eager to see the old man again. He was even more eager, however, to have the mystery of the space probe solved. As he and his friends entered the laboratory, they called out for Professor Emu, and he quickly appeared from the rear room. He was covered in pink feathers, had an orange beak, and for some reason unknown to all in town was not human like everyone else who lived there, but was instead a variety of flightless bird, possibly an emu. He hobbled along on his two mismatched legs; one was real, the other a peg leg. The original had been lost years earlier, during the destructive Burger Wars. It had been cleaved off by the Massive Menacing Metal Machine, but not before Emu and Old Doc Moneywater had liberated Mrs. Glastonberry’s slaughterhouse of its cows. That’s not really relevant now, though.

“Professor!” sighed Donny in relief, “I’m so glad I found you”.

“Well, my boy, what can I do for you?” asked Emu kindly.

“You can use your great knowledge of symbols to tell me the significance of this”, the boy replied.

Donny showed him the symbol on the side of the probe, and Emu suddenly stiffened. He went pale, as though he had had a nasty shock. “Oh dear me” he said, his throat dry “oh, pour me a shandy, I’m quite dazed”.

“Professor! What’s wrong?!” cried Donny, quite alarmed.

Emu continued, gravely; “For years I have waited and hoped that this day would never come. But, now can only be the time. For why else would this symbol, of all symbols, appear in my laboratory, on a probe in the arms of Donny Tulip? A frog smoking a cigar. The symbol of none other than Croakers Jones himself”.

“Croakers Jones?” asked Wilbur, his face screwed up in confusion, “who is that?”

But Donny knew. “Croakers Jones? The magical yet cynical amphibian who periodically visits our world for reasons unknown?” he asked of the Professor “What’s he got to do with any of this?”

There was a long pause, and then Emu began pacing, seemingly judging how much to tell. “You see, young Donny”, he finally said, “I once knew your father, Mr. Henry Tulip, quite well. He showed me a prophecy he had received from the lineage of purple-badger hunters, handed down from badger to badger to hunter to son for many years. Your father promptly forgot the prophecy, but I never did. It told me that only one boy can save the world from the forces of evil”.

Donny stared, his eyes wide. “I’m the prophesized one? What must I do?”

Emu continued, “every time Croakers Jones visits the Earth, he judges all its inhabitants to see if they are worthy of being bestowed with ULTIMATE POWER. They who can impress Croakers Jones will be given that power. But the forces of evil know this. They have been preparing, planning an impressive display so as to get their hands on ULTIMATE POWER before anyone else. Yet hope remains. If Donny Tulip- you, my boy- can get to Croakers Jones first, he- you-, and only you, can receive ULTIMATE POWER before the villains, preventing them unleashing all evil upon us”.

*DRAMATIC PAUSE*.

There was a stunned silence, and then much rapid thinking.

“If you knew about this, why didn’t you tell anyone?” asked Tom, suspiciously.

“I had hoped the day would never arrive” cried Emu, “but now it has. Donny, you must find Croakers Jones before it is too late!!”

Donny was overwhelmed. “But I don’t know where to start!” he cried. Emu, however, was too wise a professor not to have a solution.

“See this label on the side of the probe? It covers a hatch wherein is stored an information chip. The information is in code, but according to the prophecy it reveals the location of the place Croakers Jones was first seen. It will tell us where to go in order to find out where his next appearance will be. For, you see, the villains know where that was, and put the information in the probe, and now that info has fallen into your hands, just as was prophesised”.

“But how I am to read the code?” asked Donny.

“Ah, my boy, that is the nature of your magic; decoding information hidden in code. It’s a lame magic, I know, but there you are. That is why you are the chosen one. Try your powers now”.

Donny did so, and, lo and behold, it all made perfect sense. Reading the information chip by magic, he uncovered the message.

“Croakers Jones made his first appearance in the land of Goox-boox. He visited that wise old vegetable, the Holy Orange Radish of Quum, in order to share religious wisdom, philosophical theories, gossip, and a bowl of weetabix”.

Emu nodded. “Then, young Donny, you must journey to Goox-boox, there to meet with the Holy Orange Radish of Quum and learn the current whereabouts of Croakers Jones”.

“I can’t go to Goox-boox” said Donny, aghast, “it’s almost time for bed, and I have school in the morning.”
But Emu was having none of it. “It is your destiny, Donny, and the consequences for resisting it will be grave, grave I tell you. Terrible, terrible things will happen. The sky will blacken and streams of fire will fall like rain. Rivers will run red with blood. Chaos and disorder will sweep the earth. Every laundrette from here to Bloomington will shut down, leaving us without dry-cleaning”.

Horrified, Donny’s friends all looked at him expectantly. It was obvious what had to be done. And indeed, quite sensibly, and as any normal child would, Donny then decided quite happily that he was going to leave his school, town, friends and parents immediately, without even telling the latter, and journey to a distant land to fulfil a dangerous destiny that would probably get him killed. Some people might have thought he’d do a little soul searching first, or ask his parents for advice, or something, but those people are wrong. Anyway, he sent Sam and Wilbur home but told Tom he could come if he liked. Professor Emu packed them some sandwiches and gave them his mobile number, just in case.

“Why won’t you come with us?” asked Donny, “seeing as you’re the wise, knowledgeable adult who’s responsible for setting me off on my quest, surely you could be a bit more responsible and come along?”

Emu couldn’t. Sorry, he simply couldn’t. That’s just how it is. The Burger Wars just took too much out of him. Sorry. So Donny and Tom bravely strolled off to the cowport, there to book passage to Goox-boox. What’s that, you ask? Why did the villains put the information they had gathered on Croakers Jones into a space probe and launch it as part of a space exploration program? Ah, you’ll just have to wait and find out...viscount biscuits might possibly be involved....

 

[Lookingglassman]

Re: My old story has returned, so I'll share it. Warning- really, weir

Um....

 

[Deranged Nasat]

Re: My old story has returned, so I'll share it. Warning- really, weir

Chapter Four: Mr. Prettybuttercup meets some squirrels.

Early the next morning, Mr. Prettybuttercup and ??? were driving to Donny’s town in their van, ready to kidnap him. Mr. Prettybuttercup had chosen his weapons carefully. As well as his considerable physical power, he carried a large stick, a rabid ferret with sharp teeth, and the badass steel mace with pink bow loaned to him by General Purple. He was feeling initially quite confident as he drove along, but soon he became aware that something wasn’t quite right.

“???”, he said, “look out of the window. Tell me if anyone’s following”.

??? did so, and then gulped in fear. With clouds of dust flying from their wheels, six motorcycles were closing on the van. Atop each motorcycle rode a squirrel wearing nothing but a belt, in which rested two scimitars.

“The ninja squirrels” said Mr. Prettybuttercup, quite impressed.

“Put your foot on it!” whined ???

“Shut up, kid” said Prettybuttercup, “aint no one who can outrun the ninja squirrels. We’re pulling over. Then they’ll find out the hard way, you don’t mess with Horace Prettybutterrcup”.

He turned the van sharply, pulling over to the side of the road. The motorcycles screeched to a halt around them. Squirrel Foo, Squirrel Li, Squirrel Tang, Squirrel Hu, Squirrel Kim and Squirrel O’Squirrelson leapt off of the bikes and awaited Mr. Prettybuttercup’s exist from the van. With ??? watching in awe, Prettybuttercup stepped out and faced the squirrels. There was silence.

Then there wasn’t silence anymore, because Squirrel Foo spoke.

“Ok, I won’t waste your time, Prettybuttercup. My boys and I have been riding hard for days, all the way from the Hills of Spandecularrism, which, as you know, border the land of Goox-boox. We are in a state of crisis, and odd as it may seem, we need your help”.

Prettybuttercup sneered. He had no love for the ninja squirrels, despite his respect for their prowess in combat.

“And what makes you think you’ll get it?”

“Because you’re plan will lie in ruins if you don’t”, came the reply.

Prettybuttercup unsheathed his rabid ferret. “Is that a threat?” he growled.

“Not at all” said Squirrel Foo. “Rather, I shall explain. As many know, the squirrel known as Jack hands out lemon juice to those who aid him, for he keeps the lemon in his home. That lemon supplied allies of the squirrels, and the squirrels themselves, with lemon juice . Until recently, for the lemon was stolen, by none other than Achy Breaky Heart”.

Mr. Prettybuttercup’s eyebrow rose upon hearing that. He had once worked as a bodyguard for the infamous mafia don, Achy Breaky Heart. When A.B.H’s business empire had collapsed, taken over by Teppup’s WorldConquest’n’Enslavement INC, Prettybuttercup had entered the Villainous Order of 13 rather than go down with his master.

Squirrel Foo continued: “Without the lemon, our supplies of lemon juice grow depleted. Soon, we shall not have enough lemon juice to keep the water of the Mighty River of Might concentrated. The river will then grow so pure it will burst its banks, flooding down the hills of Spandecularrism and washing away our homes. But, and here’s the thing, it’ll then flow down into Goox-boox, threatening the Holy Orange Radish of Quum’s banana. And I doubt Croakers Jones will be impressed then, do you?”

Mr. Prettybuttercup’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “What do you know about Croakers Jones?” he asked.
Foo smiled slyly. “Let’s just say we know enough. What you need to be concerned with is finding Achy Breaky Heart, and using your old connections to him to get us back that lemon”. He turned to leave, but tossed a parting shot and conclusion over his shoulder. “By all means continue with your plans. But take care also to hunt down Achy Breaky Heart and retrieve the lemon. For both of us will only succeed in our respective plans if the lemon is returned to the squirrels”.

On that ominous note, he signalled to his boys, and all six ninjas mounted their bikes and rode off west. Prettybuttercup nodded to himself. He knew the squirrels couldn’t find the lemon themselves, due to Achy Breaky Heart’s use of anti-squirrel spray, so they would need his services. And they were right. The Order’s plan could only succeed if the lemon was returned. He would have to work extra hard. But first, of course, he had a boy to kidnap. Returning to the van, he started the engine. ??? was in awe.

“What did you say to them?” he asked, “did you threaten to rip out their livers and nail their private parts to a tree, only to then set them on fire and carve your initials into their forehead, before setting a dog on them and spraying acid into their eyes while beating them with their own torn-off limbs? Is that why they left?”

“Quiet, kid” growled Prettybuttercup, “you know nothing of the true horrors of being a badass”. Just wait until you are forced to betray your old master and rob him of the only fruit he has ever loved, he thought. Another piece of my blackened and broken soul died off today. (Dear reader, it is worth noting that, simply because he is revealed to be a sensitive and reflective man inside, that doesn’t make Prettybuttercup a good person. He is going to try and kidnap the hero. He is a bad, bad man. Very bad. Ask the Snitch.). “Now let’s go”, said Prettybuttercup, “we’ve got a highly evil and in no manner sympathetic crime, no, sin, no, brutal and terrifying personal violation to commit”.

 

[Deranged Nasat]

Re: My old story has returned, so I'll share it. Warning- really, weir

Um....

"Um" is right! You shall all share in my madness. Why should I suffer alone?

 

[Deranged Nasat]

Re: My old story has returned, so I'll share it. Warning- really, weir

Chapter Five: Showdown at the Cowport

An hour later, Donny and Tom were finally getting ready to board their cow. They were tired, irritable and beginning to regret agreeing to undergo this quest. They had had to spend the entire night in the departures lounge, due to strike action by the flying green cows. As the only means of travel into Goox-boox, the cows knew they possessed much power, and had been demanding a pay rise, new accommodations at the cowport, and world peace. In the end, they had settled for the first two. The strike was over, and the Cow Controller had, in a very relieved voice due to his previous concern over how irritable customers were getting, declared that everyone could now make their way to the field to board their cows.

“About time” Donny grumbled, “we’ve been on the mission for 12 hours, eaten our sandwiches and engaged in many friendly games of I-Spy, and what do we have to show for it? We’re not even out of the town yet”.

“Yeah, I do wonder how we can possibly impress Croakers Jones and get you ULTIMATE POWER by being late and ineffective” said Tom.

“Maybe your resilience and determination to keep going will impress him” said the Apathetic Weasel, “but if I were you I wouldn’t discuss your secret and highly dangerous mission so loudly. People might overhear”.

Donny and Tom turned, white faced, in horror, to find a weasel standing behind them. I’ve failed already, thought Donny in shock, but then he decided he was prepared to fight, and he balled his hands into fists.

“There’s no need to hit me” said the furry animal. “Not that I I’ll be motivated to defend myself. It’s too much bother. I’m the Apathetic Weasel, and I’m an ally from the government to help you”.

Donny felt hope rise within him, but he was also very suspicious. “I thought the government had become corrupt and evil, and I was to avoid them at all costs”, he said, “why would they send someone to help me?”

“Not all the ministers are in the employ of evil” said the weasel, “one or two think the plan to secretly get ULTIMATE POWER and manipulate the public is wrong. But because of how terrifying the consequences of helping you would be, they won’t come and do it”.

“Then why did you?” asked Donny.

The Weasel shrugged. “Because I’m the Apathetic Weasel. I just don’t care.”

“Great!” said Donny, much cheered, “I’m certain having an ally as completely and utterly unable to care or display motivation as you are will prove greatly useful!”

“Possibly” said the Weasel, “or possibly not. It could be either. I can’t really be bothered to find out”.

Donny beamed. “Well then, I’ll fill you in once we board the cow. Let’s go”.

“You aint going nowhere, kid” came a sudden menacing voice.

Whirling, Donny gasped as he saw a tall, broad, mean looking man carrying a mace, a stick and a rabid ferret.
“Oh. No. A. Villain” said the Apathetic Weasel, in a slow monotone.

“That’s right” sneered the new arrival “and you aint catching no cow, Donny Tulip. My orders are to kidnap you and take you to the Land of Evil. ???, prepare to enter stage two!”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Prettybuttercup!!” cried a second new arrival, whizzing along in a van from round behind the arrivals lounge. Stage two consisted of having the van ready while Prettybuttercup clobbered the heroes into submission. Prettybuttercup explained this to the heroes. “You wanna surrender already?” he added, “it’d be easier”.

Donny, outraged that the villains had caught up with him so soon, and more than a little embarrassed too, was about to open his mouth and make a long noble speech about how he would never surrender. Just then, however, Tom remembered something important. “The cow! Donny, it’s about to take off!”, he cried.

Knowing he had very little time, Donny desperately lunged for Prettybuttercup, hoping to disarm him and then run for the field of cows. And so Donny and his friends entered their first true fight. Prettybuttercup tried to bash Donny with the mace, but Donny pulled on the pink bow General Purple had left on the weapon, and it sprung back like the elastic band it was and hit Prettybuttercup’s hand. Roaring in pain, the villain dropped the mace. Before Donny could run, however, he whipped out the rabid ferret and began swinging with it. Donny was backed into a corner, but then courageously leapt at his attacker again, trying to grab the furry, spitting weapon. Meanwhile, ??? grabbed the mace, and wielded it at the Apathetic Weasel. But the Apathetic Weasel just couldn’t be motivated to care. Foiled, ??? tried to run, but Tom tackled him, knocking him to the floor.
Donny was still grappling with Prettybuttercup over the rabid ferret. Donny was obviously much weaker, but he had the advantage of his kind and generous heart, which is always a source of power to heroes, no matter how lame they are really. In this case, seeing how Donny treated small, slim carnivores with respect by having a weasel on his team, the ferret lost all will to bite the boy, and instead turned on Prettybuttercup.

“Arrgh! I’m learning an important lesson about treating small animals with kindness!!” cried Prettybuttercup, trying to shake the ferret off.

Donny took the opportunity to run, as fast as he could carrying the probe, in the direction of the field, where even now the green cow was preparing for takeoff. Tom was running alongside him, the Apathetic Weasel just behind, simply for the hell of it, and soon they had reached safety.
“I’ll get you yet, Donny Tulip!” cried Prettybuttercup, waving his clenched fist as the three heroes leapt aboard the green cow. The bovine immediately began to gallop along the runway, ready for takeoff; Donny whooped in delight as the villain was left far behind. Tom cheered along with him, but the Apathetic Weasel just couldn’t be bothered.

A soothing voice began speaking as they launched into the air. “Ladies and gentleman, boys and girls, mysterious supporting characters and heroes, this is your cow speaking. Please keep all limbs atop or aside the cow at all times. Fasten your sticky tape and hold on, we’re in for turbulence. This flight stops at Tongtington, the City of Sin, Floating Teacup City and attendant milk carton, dramatic mid-air dogfight in chapter six, and Goox-boox.”

Donny sighed in relief. They were off. Hopefully all will be smooth sailing now, he thought, as he watched the town grow small and distant. He turned the probe over in his hands (he was still carrying it), contemplating why the forces of evil would put top secret information in there, rather than keeping it safely hidden. It was a mystery. To be solved, possibly at some later point in the story. But first, to meet with the Holy Orange Radish of Quum, and take one step further in fulfilling his destiny....

 

[Deranged Nasat]

Re: My old story has returned, so I'll share it. Warning- really, weir

Interlude: I’m rather frightened of Magic, Magic E. He’s always up to no good, yet few seem able to stop him. The immoral acts he perpetrates are quite hideous. For example, Twin becomes Twine with him. Did you see what he did just then? He turned two innocent people- in the original video they’re children, for god’s sake- into twine! I’ve got two beautiful little children I love, who are twins, and then along comes Magic, Magic E and turns them into bundles of string. As if that’s not bad enough, it gets worse if you name your beloved children. If I name my son Tim, for example, then Tim becomes Time with him. He just dissipates into the fourth dimension. At least with the twins I had physical remains to mourn over. The child-killing bastard, he’s Magic, Magic E! How I am to fight this enemy? Even if I defeat him, it will be as if it never was. For Win becomes Wine with him. I’m celebrating my victory, only to suddenly find it transformed into alcohol. My success is revealed to be merely a booze-fuelled fantasy! Even worse, any attack on him he can undo instantly with his tense-warping powers. For Slid becomes Slide with him. Damn the consequences of the past, he can discard them to rewrite the present. But will he use this power to show mercy and turn Time back into Tim, etc, -no! The manipulative villain, he’s Magic, Magic E! His sense of morality is twisted out of all proportion. For Fin becomes Fine with him. Evil, as represented by the fin of the shark, is perfectly okay in his books. Yet, all that is good, e.g. healthy diet preventing obesity, he twists to portray in the worst possible light. For Slim becomes Slime with him. See how he twists our values to pieces, while justifying his own murderous ways. The unspeakable monster, he’s Magic, Magic E! And there’s no way he’ll just leave you alone, oh no, even if you’re just sitting quietly, minding your own business, you’re still a target. For Sit becomes Site with him. He’ll mark the spot on his map, and cause an incident there. Even his clothing is evil. For Cap becomes Cape with him, the trendy, friendly headgear replaced by the cloak of villainy. His terrible schemes know no limits. He even forces footballer’s romantic partners to go out to work for a living. For Wag becomes Wage with him. He stirs up social unrest by leading rebellions against the same rich footballers. For Rag becomes Rage with him. If we’re not careful, he’ll undo the entire social structure of our civilization.

Chapter Six: Dramatic Mid-air Dogfight
The flight was actually quite enjoyable at first. The feel of the breeze on their faces was cheering to the heroes, and the other passengers aboard the cow were appreciative, too. The other passengers were also blissfully unaware that an ultra-important mission was being undertaken by the boys and weasel beside them, which was just as well as they were distinctly unheroic themselves and would just have gotten in the way had they joined the quest. There was a rich, snobbish, unintelligent woman, a wizened old man with glasses and a bad cough, a man who was grossly overweight, and a young pot of Marmalade off to visit his aunt at the Floating Teacup City. Donny and his companions more or less ignored them, and at first it seemed everything was going to go smoothly. Tongtington and the City of Sin passed without incident, but shortly after the second stop, Donny became aware that something was- yep, you guessed it- wrong.

“What’s that approaching rapidly from the East?” he asked, concerned. It soon became apparent that it was a man in a pointy hat, riding a broomstick. He was also headed straight towards the cow, and an evil glint was becoming evident in his eyes. It appeared the villains hadn’t given up on abducting Donny just yet.

“Who could possibly ride upon only a slim pole, with no other means of support or engines?” asked Tom.

“It must be a powerful wizard!” cried Donny.

“Indeed” said the Apathetic Weasel, “it’s none other than Magic, Magic E, the infamous dark magician. He is able to fly on a thin broomstick, for Rod becomes Rode with him. Such is the evil nature of his powers”.

Donny, whose powers were limited to decoding information written in code, felt helpless in the face of such magic. His concerns were as nothing compared to his fellows, though.

“What do I do?” cried the cow, whose extensive training had not prepared her for this eventuality, “I know what to do in the event of onboard fire, passenger sickness requiring detour to hospital, terrorist attempts to hijack the cow, spontaneous combustion of passengers, drastic loss of milk, incoming hurricane, even the much feared Levitating Milkmaid. But I don’t know what to do in the event of evil wizards bearing down upon me on broomsticks!”

Her panic spread rapidly to the passengers.

“Somebody help us!” cried the woman.

“If only there were designated heroes aboard!” cried the old man, “they would surely be able to help us!”

“But only if they were quick!” cried the pot of Marmalade “for the wizard is already muttering a spell to bind us!”

It was true. Having finished manipulating the public and generating support for a continuation of the space program, Magic, Magic E had been dispatched to aid in the capture of our heroes, and he was now preparing his dark magic to bring a stop to the cow.

“Do something, Donny!” cried Tom, and Donny knew he’d have to fight back somehow.

“There’s only one thing for it!” he said, and threw the space probe at the wizard. He hoped he wouldn’t need it at a later date, but it seemed somewhat expendable now. Yeah, yeah, there was that mystery hook thing I mentioned- forget it. The probe hit the villainous magician straight in the mouth, ruining his spell and throwing him off course. Donny held his breath. Magic, Magic E began to fall from the sky, tumbling end over end.

“Yes!” cried Donny, “got him! He has no hope now!”

The other passengers began cheering. They were, however, somewhat premature. Even as Donny watched, Magic, Magic E began to jump up and down on his falling broomstick, but on one leg only. Suddenly, he began to swoop back up, coming round for another attack.

“He can’t be beaten that easily” said the Apathetic Weasel, “For Hop becomes Hope with him”.

Donny moaned, for the wizard was approaching ramming speed, hoping to knock the cow out of the air, and there was nothing else to throw. Or so Donny thought. For Magic, Magic E had sowed the seeds of his own destruction. As his broomstick hit the cow, it shook it so hard the passengers were thrown out of their positions. The obese man, crying out in horror, was thrown off entirely, and his trajectory took him straight into the wizard himself, who was attempting to duck underneath the cow and come round from behind. With a wet “thunk”, the overweight passenger slammed into the broomstick, sending Magic, Magic E spiralling down with him. Because the man’s bulk was crushing his leg, he couldn’t even hop, and with a wordless scream he fell out of sight once and for all. Relief swept through the passengers immediately, but the cow was not comforted.

“Oh no! I’ve lost a passenger!” she cried, “we get a 5% pay cut when we drop passengers!”

The Apathetic Weasel, however, just couldn’t be motivated to care.

“Only by throwing grossly obese people at Magic, Magic E can you defeat him” he said, sagely; “only the overweight can force him to confront his destiny. For Fat becomes Fate with him”.

“Weasel” said Donny, sternly, “technically, an innocent person has just died because of us. Solemn reflection is the correct response for a hero, not attempts at justification.”

The Apathetic Weasel just couldn’t be motivated to care, though

The cow flew on. It was a period of sadness for Donny Tulip. For the first time, he had been confronted with the depressing reality of his situation. Because the villains were after him, he brought misfortune upon all in his vicinity. Already, a fat man had fallen off a flying cow due to Donny’s presence, and who knew if it was only the beginning? Donny felt very much alone. He couldn’t tell Tom of his concerns because his loyal friend was too trusting to see his faults, and he couldn’t tell the Apathetic Weasel, because he just wouldn’t care. He couldn’t even ring Professor Emu, because mobiles didn’t work aboard flying green cows. He would have to confront his guilt and despair on his own. Do you sympathise with him? I would. It’s not nice, feeling responsible for all the bad stuff that happens. Though it’s not really Donny’s fault, is it? I’d blame Teppup. Is he feeling guilty, do you think? Let’s see......

 

[Deranged Nasat]

Re: My old story has returned, so I'll share it. Warning- really, weir

Last part for tonight, but never fear, I'll post it all up.

Chapter Seven: The Aliens From Up Above get in on the plot.


Teppup strolled ominously down the corridor, with Sane Professor Mad right behind him, and the Turtle balanced on his shoulder. They were navigating the labyrinth-like warren that constituted the Wonderfully Intelligent Licensed Department of the Government Organized Observatory of Space Exploration, or WILD GOOSE. This was the most successful institute in the land at searching space for new sources of mineral wealth, energy, and ice-cream. Teppup had returned here to oversee the launch of his second space probe. This, if successful, would lessen the blow of his most recent failure. Donny Tulip had escaped, and for now was beyond his grasp. On the other hand, he reminded himself, Magic, Magic E’s manipulations had succeeded in calming the agitated public. As for the teams of scientists working at WILD GOOSE, Teppup had other ways of controlling them. There was no reason to believe anything else would go wrong. He strode into the main control room, somewhat startling the scientists hunched over their beeping, flashing control consoles.

“Are we prepared to launch the second Probe of Power?” he asked loudly. The scientists looked at one another, nervously. Teppup didn’t like that.

“I asked you a question!”

Tremulously, the lead scientist, Dr. Under Minestein, replied, “We are indeed ready to launch a probe today, my lord. However, if we launch the second Probe of Power- which is prepared, of course, on your orders- we will be unable to launch the Probe to Pluto, undoing years of work by this institute and its sponsors in the ice-cream industry”.

“And this is my problem because...?” asked Teppup. Doctor Minestein spluttered at the villain’s ignorance.

“How else are we to answer the immortal question; does strawberry ice-cream, indeed any form of ice-cream, exist naturally on Pluto? If not, then the ambitious plan to better mankind by exploiting the dwarf planet’s ice-cream deposits is doomed to failure. Swirly McToothdecay will have invested his money in us for nothing!”

Minestein looked around, hoping his message was getting through. Teppup was distinctly unmoved, although Sane Professor Mad did seem slightly concerned. The Turtle simply watched.

“That is indeed a shame” said Teppup, eventually. “However, my plot must proceed as planned. You will launch the Probe of Power, or you will suffer the consequences”. He pulled from his cape pocket a red beanbag, quite dusty and battered, and with a smiley face drawn onto it in black crayon. It was completely pathetic.

“Have you forgotten, doctor”, Teppup continued, “that Mr. Beany is currently staying with me? It would be a shame, would it not, if something unfortunate were to happen to him”.

He held up an ink eraser and threatened to rub off part of the smiley face. Minestein gasped in horror.

“No! Please! I will submit gladly to your questionable authority, just don’t rub the smiley face off of Mr. Beany! He’s the only friend I have! Without his smiley face to contemplate, I will be forced to confront the truth of my pitiful isolation and despair!”

“Indeed” said Teppup “so launch the Probe of Power this instant!”

The scientists all scuttled to work, desperately pressing buttons. The Turtle simply watched. Having emphasized his hold over the cowed scientists, Teppup smirked annoyingly.

“I am activating the countdown” said Minestein, defeated, “stand by to hear a soothing and helpful Voice explaining further proceedings”. Everyone waited expectantly until a computer program began talking over the room’s speakers.

“Countdown initiating” said the Voice, “For your convenience and comfort, countdown will begin at 10 and proceed backwards to progressively lower numbers until it reaches zero, upon which Rocket Going Up will happen”.

Just to be sure, Teppup turned to Sane Professor Mad, a quizzical expression on his face. “Yes, sir” confirmed the Professor, “this is indeed the most viable form of countdown known to current science”.

Teppup nodded in satisfaction. Through the window, the Probe of Power, containing the important information being sent to Teppup’s most powerful ally, began to vibrate in anticipation of launch. This time, Teppup told himself, it will achieve stable orbit, and soon ULTIMATE POWER shall be mine.

The Voice, meanwhile, was progressing through the countdown. “10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2.7, 2.2, 1.6, 1.569, 1.1, 0.7773....” Teppup looked at Sane Professor Mad. The scientist nodded affirmation. Teppup shrugged, and returned his attention to the launch, just in time to catch --

“0. Rocket will now proceed upwards at some speed”.

As the awed scientists and villains (and Mr. Beany) watched, a flash of intense light sprouted from the launching field, and the Probe of Power blasted into the sky, there to rendezvous with Teppup’s ally.

.....................................................

Meanwhile, lurking in the dim outer reaches of the solar system, the attack fleet of the Aliens From Up Above picked up the Probe’s launch. Having achieved stable orbit, and looped round a few times to gain energy, the probe then suddenly accelerated out of Earth’s gravity well, straight towards the fleet. It was soon caught in a tractor beam and bought aboard the lead viscount biscuit, a mint-flavoured warship. The probe was deposited in the “incoming mail” basket in one of the launch bays. Two of the Aliens From Up Above arrived to sort the mail, and lazily began taking the probe apart, until they became aware of another figure looming behind them.

“Supreme Evil Galactic Overlord Cuebert!” gasped the first AFUA, as his companion dropped his mug of splodge juice all over the floor. For it was indeed none other than their leader. Standing before them in his baggy jeans, anorak, cheap glasses and sparkly crown, Supreme Evil Galactic Overlord Cuebert looked as if he had been waiting for their delivery.

“I had a feeling the probe was for me” he told his underlings. “Due to my vast and ridiculous ego, I get this feeling every time we receive something, and so I always turn up unexpectedly. I change the shifts around so often in order to maintain that unexpectedness. That is simply how conceited and self-serving I am”.

This little piece of character exposition out of the way (you did get that, right? This guy is a jerk), he reached out and picked up the probe.

“Fittingly, this probe was for me. The symbol on the side, that of a frog smoking a cigar, signifies that my old chum Teppup is about to implement his old plan. For this is the symbol of Croakers Jones, and Teppup’s time has now come.”

Cuebert turned to his underlings “Not that I was really telling you that, of course. You are mere underlings”.

“Indeed we are, sir” said one of the AFUAs “We all understand that was simply another artistically pointless moment of exposition”.

Cuebert nodded, before heading back to the bridge in order to read the information chip contained within the probe. Attached to the chip, however, he found a letter. It read;

“Dear Cuebert. This is your old classmate Teppup. Many years ago, as students at the Secondary Comprehensive of Evil, we discussed a possible means of acquiring ULTIMATE POWER. Now, with the return of Croakers Jones to Earth, the plan is coming into focus. However, to be sure of impressing that magical yet cynical amphibian, I will require space flight capabilities beyond anything I currently possess. Only you, Cuebert, can help me complete the plan. Once you’ve helped me gain ULTIMATE POWER and conquer the world, I will make you my Grand Vizier as your reward. I will also write you a thank-you letter. I hope to see your fleet of viscount biscuit attack ships ready for my usage within the next few days. Find within this probe all the information I have currently collected on Croakers Jones, to help you plan your part in the plot”.

After reading this, Cuebert gave the evil laugh; “Tee hee hee hee hee hee hee hee! It appears my years of exile from the Earth are about to come to an end!”

He turned to a Nerd on duty at one of the bridge consoles. “Mr. Doug, remove the foil from the attack ships”.

Now to the helm. “Mr Ned, set your course for Earth. Maximum burn!”

“The Mint Core cannae handle the speed, Your Supremeness” protested a viscount engineer.

“Then deploy our newest experimental vessel; the orange/mint combo cruiser!” said Cuebert, excitedly. There were gasps of surprise and concern from many of the Nerds and AFUAs.

“But, sir!” protested an even-smarter-than-usual Nerd, “the orange/mint combo cruiser has yet to be fully tested! Complications may....”

“Silence!” cried Cuebert, throwing his eraser at the Nerd, “do not presume to make sensible and relevant warnings to me! I am your overlord! Proceed as I blindly dictate!”

Quickly and fearfully, the crew hurried to their tasks. The ships soon blasted forward, looping round the sun on a tight course for Earth. There were minor complications when it came to passing through the marshmellow belt, that infamous and dense navigation hazard, and indeed, several ships were struck by marshmellows. Most of the fleet, however, led by the combo cruiser, successfully reached the other side, and sped on, heading for Earth. The inhabitants didn’t know it, but trouble was on its way....

...................................................................

Meanwhile, back on Earth itself, trouble of a different kind was brewing. A burly man dressed in a red and blue striped sweater had just picked up the evening paper, and the headline jumped out at him immediately; “WorldConquest’n’Enslavement INC launches second space probe. Pluto ice-cream expedition scrapped”. Shaking in anger, the man put the paper down without reading it, and pressed a button on the underside of his desk. A ringing sound was heard. Shortly thereafter, a penguin in a smart dinner jacket and bow-tie appeared in the doorway.

“You rang, sir?” it asked, in a flawless upper-class English accent.

The man pulled out a mask and placed it over his head, concealing his true identity and becoming Whippy-man, the Many Flavoured Knight, ready to bring justice back into the world of ice-cream.

“Penguin Lord Hubblebottom, ready the Musical Iceberg! We’re journeying to the City. Mr. Teppup will regret the day he crossed Swirly McToothdecay!”

 

[mari]

Re: My old story has returned, so I'll share it. Warning- really, weir

I like it!

 

[RJDiogenes]

Re: My old story has returned, so I'll share it. Warning- really, weir

Heh. Too much to read right now, but I'll try to get to it over the weekend. Seems to have a bit of a Douglas Adams vibe to it.

 

[Deranged Nasat]

Re: My old story has returned, so I'll share it. Warning- really, weir

Chapter Eight: His Holiness the Radish

The cow touched down in Goox-boox late that evening, and Donny, Tom and the Apathetic Weasel were left alone. Donny had paid the cow a tip using his remaining change, and was now out of money. Still, it felt good to stretch his legs after the long flight. Not that they had far to walk. They had been set down quite close to co-ordinates east by south-west by north by dead centre, as this was the position of the only true landmark in Goox-boox; the banana wherein dwelled the Holy Orange Radish of Quum. Apart from that, there was mere wasteland, with the Treacherous Swamps of Knickerbocker to the north, and the Burning Deserts of the Sacred Spindle to the east. Far out west were the more inviting Hills of Spandecularrism, but Donny and friends could not go there. Lest they catch chill in the desert night, or run afoul of the Spastic Radioactive Parrot, known to haunt these parts, they proceeded quickly to the banana. As they approached, the door opened, and a mystical music began playing as if from no-where. Silhouetted in the doorway stood the pinstriped bikini wearer, the weetabix eater, the bringer of wisdom; the Holy Orange Radish of Quum.

“Oh, great Radish” began Donny, falling to his knees in awe, “I have travelled far in order to...”

The Radish, however, interrupted. “Donny Tulip. I’ve been expecting you. Please, come in. Tom, Apathetic Weasel, you are equally welcome. I offer you a bowl of weetabix to replenish your strength”. His voice was deep and solemn, yet welcoming.

“You know why we are here?” asked Donny, amazed. This vegetable clearly was holy.

“You are here to learn the direction of travel for Croakers Jones, following his appearance here and visit with me” said the Radish. “I will assist you, and I have prepared provisions for your party. For no-one can succeed without their wearing the battered yet comfortable leather jacket of Preparedness”. (That was wisdom, by the way. There is no actual jacket).

Donny was delighted at the Radish’s intent to help, but there was a nagging question he needed answering. “If you knew why we were coming, why didn’t you ask Croakers Jones to stop and wait for us? Is it that, like my ally the weasel, you simply don’t care about my mission?”

The Radish shook his body from side to side, imitating a denying head-shake. “It is not that I do not care, young Donny. Croakers Jones, however, is a creature whose power exceeds even mine. If he does not wish to do something, I cannot make him”.

“Why doesn’t he want to wait for me?” asked Donny.

“As we drink from the little yellow china teacup of Life” said the Radish, sagely, “we must always be careful that we don’t inadvertently climb aboard the antiquated polished sailboat of Evil. Yet some in this world do, lacking the quite silly and pointless pink feather hat of Basic Morality. This will lead the world into the irritating red rash that won’t go away of Destruction, unless goodness of heart can triumph. But although I have tried to share my philosophy with him, Croakers Jones is simply too cynical to accept it. So he will judge based not on morality but on what can make him think “cor!” And, that, sadly, is likely to be battles and explosions, fast cars and cheap cigars, scantily clad women of questionable character and games of Russian Roulette. Convincing him to wait for you was impossible.”

Donny was disheartened to hear this. Other than the power to decode information written in code, which he doubted would impress anyone very much, all he had was a sense of what was right, and a desire to do good. It seemed he was unlikely to be bestowed with ULTIMATE POWER, even if he did succeed in catching up to the frog before the villains.

“Yet hope remains” continued the Radish. “You may yet succeed in touching a part of his character so far hidden deep within his bitter core, and reawakening the 25-year old Australian woman with good taste and a perfect smile of Love”.

“We’ll do it, and make you proud, Radish!” vowed Donny.

The Radish nodded.

“Where exactly did Croakers Jones go, then?” asked the Apathetic Weasel. Everyone looked at him in surprise. He sighed.

“No, that wasn’t motivation, but seeing as you boys had so far forgotten to ask, I thought I would, so as to get this chapter back on track so we can be done with it as soon as possible”.

“Most wise, Mr. Weasel” said the Radish, approvingly. “Yes, ok, here is the relevant information for this chapter. Croakers Jones journeys The Road, hoping to reach the Tower of Babel, so as to make his judgement from the top, from where everyone can hear him. If you are unable to catch up with him before he reaches it, that’s where you will find him. Conveniently for plot purposes, The Road begins right there, outside my house. This means you can follow Croakers Jones’ path from my home quite rapidly, despite not having his magical powers. Also conveniently, despite knowing he first appeared at my house long before you knew, the villains did not see the sign pointing to The Road. This was because the sunlight at the hour of their visit was too bright for them to look directly in that direction. So, despite their plan being well ahead of yours, you have a headstart on the journey”.

“Wow” said Donny “we’re lucky things are so convenient, or else we’d be in real trouble”.

The Radish nodded. “It appears the unskilled cliché-driven desperate author of Luck is working upon us”.

Donny smiled, but then remembered something important. ”I knew this quest would be dangerous, but the two recent fights with powerful villains have made me aware just how underpowered and vulnerable I am”, he said.

Again, the Radish nodded. “Picking the pretty red flowers of Adventure often leads to our being stung by the malicious genetically-engineered-by-the-military-to-be-super-venomous-and-aggressive psychopathic scorpions of Danger”. He paused to eat a spoonful of weetabix, clearly particularly pleased with that last metaphor.

“I don’t mind when the fate of the world is at stake” said Donny earnestly, “I just think, if I am to walk The Road after Croakers Jones, I should be armed, given the villains out to capture me and all”.

The Radish nodded in apparent agreement. “You’ll require a weapon. Thus, I bestow upon you the small wet dishcloth of Offense”.

This was said with an air of deep magnificence, as the Radish handed him the appropriate item. Donny was ashamed at his lack of appreciation, for this great vegetable’s mystic wisdom was legendary and his was so poor he did not understand.

“Is this simply another odd metaphorical construct, as opposed to actually a usable weapon?” he asked.

The Radish nodded. “I’m much impressed by your keen mind, Donny. Already you comprehend the nature of my great wisdom. For a weapon can only be a construct of our imagination, an abstract idea, attached to no one physical form. Thus, your weapons are in your spirit, channelled through the appropriate physical metaphor, in this case the dishcloth”.

“Oh” said Donny. There was a pause, “I can’t have, you know, a sword or anything then?” he asked hopefully.

“No” said the Radish. “True wisdom is often greatly disappointing to the uninitiated” he added.

“Oh. Well, I’m off then” said Donny, “I thank you so much, Radish”.

“Hang on” said Tom, “why can’t he come with us, to help us children on our dangerous mission, being a responsible adult and all”.

“I cannot come with you, young friends” declared the Radish.

“Yeah, I thought you’d say that” said Donny, sighing.

The wise old vegetable explained: “Although wisdom would seem to dictate it, the fact remains that the waters of the Mighty River of Might are growing quite pure. If the river bursts its banks, I shall need to move all of my belongings to higher ground. Is it wise, my young friend, to allow my rare sable-skin rug and silken cushion to become wet and dirty, when I could so easily prevent it?”

“I guess not” said Donny, “ok, Tom, Weasel, let’s go”. The trio of heroes thanked the wise and holy radish once more, and then strolled back out of the banana. As they walked off in the direction of The Road, their backpacks stocked with the promised provisions, Donny felt somewhat cheered. They were on the true path to their quarry now, and he was sure they’d get to the Tower of Babel in no time. Soon, however, he noted that Tom seemed rather quiet.

“What are you pondering, Tom?” asked Donny, and his friend looked up thoughtfully.

“I wonder what could have made Croakers Jones so cynical, is all” said Tom.

“It’s a mystery” agreed Donny, “but who knows, maybe we’ll find out at a later point in the story and utilize our psychoanalytical knowledge to influence him in some useful manner? Possibly?”

“Whatever it is” said the Apathetic Weasel, “he really should get over it”.

 

[Deranged Nasat]

Re: My old story has returned, so I'll share it. Warning- really, weir

Chapter Nine: The Complex Life of Achy Breaky Heart .

“Well, here we are” said Mr. Prettybuttercup, “The secret base of my old mob boss, Achy Breaky Heart”.
“Are you sure?” asked ???, who, along with the Snitch, had been conscripted into accompanying him on his mission.

“Of course I’m sure, kid” growled Prettybuttercup, “it says so on that sign”. In large neon letters atop the roof of the building stood the words “SECRET BASE OF ACHY BREAKY HEART”.

“Nice” muttered the Snitch.

Prettybuttercup hadn’t wanted to bring anyone else save ???, but he had needed money, and ???, being a kid, didn’t have any. The only member of the Villainous Order of 13 who had money and could be easily intimidated was the Snitch, so Prettybuttercup had bullied him into coming along. He had also been forced to tell him the truth, which was worrying. He turned to look at the Snitch now.

“I don’t quite trust you, Snitch” said Prettybuttercup, squinting dangerously at the smaller man, “something keeps telling me that at the slightest sign of trouble you’ll rat on me, telling Achy Breaky Heart the truth of my intentions.”

The Snitch began to sweat nervously. “I wouldn’t dream of it, boss. Nah, not me!”

“You’d better not, buddy” growled Prettybuttercup. “We must get that lemon back. Croakers Jones quite likes talking to the Radish, so will not be impressed if the banana gets washed away by pure water, even if it does cause pleasant destruction elsewhere”.

The three villains turned and entered the building, and were met with a guard, clothed in dark red. Upon giving the guard the Secret Tap Dance, which he had learned during his previous period of employment, Prettybuttercup was admitted into the inner chamber, for an audience with A.B.H himself. The Snitch and ??? followed, trying not to look excited.

Achy Breaky Heart was sitting upon a throne-like chair, the lemon clearly visible beside him. It was, however, definitely out of anyone else’s reach.

“Why strike me down with a stethoscope, if it isn’t my old bodyguard, Mr. Prettybuttercup! The man who once knocked out three Hell’s Angels using another Hell’s Angel. The man who handed Cedric McDrew his teeth after his failed attempt to break into my warehouse. The man who put half the police force in the hospital following the Row Over My Parking Ticket. Welcome back!”

Prettybuttercup nodded in appreciation. “It’s good to be back, sir. And I’m seeking employment, for both myself and my sidekicks here. I heard you had returned to a life of crime and decided you could use me”.

“What a wonderful idea, my boy!” croaked the aged don, “It’s a dangerous mission I have plotted, though. Hear me through before you agree to come along. For I have a plan, Prettybuttercup! A plan to claim my revenge and restore my sense of self-worth! Oh, it was a long and hard ordeal, pulling myself up from the depths of my despair. Following the loss of my business empire, I believed I would never control large amounts of money ever again. But I succeeded in clawing my way back to influence! I have rebuilt the Synonymous Syndicate, strong as ever! And I have decided not to blame Teppup, your new master, for my losses. For although he was the one to buy me out, I have no hostility towards him. He was simply doing what was best for his company”.

“Except for the personal attempt to...” began the Snitch, but Prettybuttercup hit him and he shut up.

“That’s good to hear, sir”.

Achy Breaky heart nodded and continued; “The one I do blame is the owner of the Penguin Mob Speakeasy, Fat Pedro. That bastard bird continually harassed my boys and pushed me out of the game in The Road region many years ago. I was left without an escape route, financially, when my business went down. With the lemon at my side, however, I feel complete again! Now is the time for me to strike. Oh yes, Fat Pedro will curse the day he stole profits from me! For revenge is a dish best served cold, and nowhere is colder than Fat Pedro’s Penguin Mob Speakeasy. My band and I are just preparing to leave”.

He gestured to the members of the Synonymous Syndicate; The Crook, The Thief, The Criminal, and The No’good’n. There was, however, one underling Pretttybuttercup did not recognise. Then he suddenly did. It was someone he had never thought to see here. A man with a bald head, a stubbly chin, a large scar on one cheek, a big grin and a stem of dried grass between his teeth.

“Cowpoke Pete, the infamous cattle rustler!” cried Prettybuttercup.

“Yes” said the man, “I am indeed known as Cowpoke Pete. Although I was originally a corrupt banker, controlling much money- until one of my clerks ratted me out to the law, forcing me to go on the run and rustle cattle.”

The Snitch twitched nervously, his eyes darting back and forth. Beads of sweat appeared on his forehead.
“Unfortunately, I never got the b*****’s name” Pete growled, “else I would’ve hunted him down and made him pay”.

The Snitch gulped, and fiddled with his hands. Not noticing, Achy Breaky Heart continued explaining.

“Cowpoke Pete has walked The Road back and forth for years, often rustling cattle from the Field of Cows and cheating the Last McDonald’s on Earth out of its beef burger profits. Fat Pedro has his flipper in that pie, and so has declared Pete an enemy. Tired of fighting off assassins sent by the Penguins, Pete has agreed to help me take down Pedro. His extensive knowledge of the inhabitants of The Road’s wasteland has helped me pinpoint the most likely mercenaries-for-hire in the region; the Gummi Empire”.

Pete then explained to them about the Gummi Empire, but you may, instead, read this factual account written by the famed explorer, Buster Le Grange:

“Of all the societies located within the barren wasteland bordering The Road, among the most intriguing is the Gummi Empire. Primitive and low-tech, this unique realm nevertheless has great power in its devastating sweetness. The Empire begins at Gummi Bear Ascension, where Gummi bears crawl out of the Sea of Jelly and establish a civilization. The wonders within are blocked from the view of outsiders by the Great Wall of Gummi., but intelligence scans taken by Fat Pigeons have revealed the existence of extensive Sugar Mines, Syrup Swamps, and the Lake of Colourings. The Empire is defended by formidable wall mounted E-number cannons, and this explorer’s entirely justified attempt to civilize them and steal all their stuff was therefore unsuccessful. Violent, petty, and alien, the Gummi Bears are however easily impressed by anyone significantly bigger than they are, or, in other words, by almost anyone else. Thus, manipulating them into destroying your enemies shouldn’t be too difficult, were you of the callous and destructive sort and not a civilized explorer such as myself”.

As he watched Prettybuttercup, the Snitch and ??? absorb the information, Achy Breaky Heart reflected on the fruit sat beside him. No-one could ever be allowed to find out why the lemon was so important to him. For it was too painful a truth to share. For, you see, (and you’re allowed to know, because you’re the reader and you don’t count), once upon a time Achy Breaky Heart had gone by a much different name. As a young organ, he was known as Carefree Heart. He had lived happily with his parents in a grove of lemon trees, deep in the Hills of Spandecularrism. His days were filled with sweetness and love, and the smell of lemon juice. But, one day, early in Carefree Heart’s teenage years, a force of squirrels had arrived in the Hills. The squirrels soon took control of the region, biting holes in the lemon trees to make their nests. Desperately, the Hearts tried to stop them, but small furry mammals have powers beyond most people’s imaginings, and the Hearts were forced to flee their homes, driven out by the first generation of ninja squirrels. Carefree Heart’s mother, Good Heart, broke following this event, and his father, Noble Heart, lost himself, becoming bitter and dull. Carefree Heart tried to hold on. The squirrels, meanwhile, had destroyed all the lemon trees. Seeing at last the error of their ways, they vowed to keep the one remaining lemon safe. The grandfather of Jack Squirrel took custody of it, and with it Carefree Heart’s fond childhood memories.

Carefree Heart therefore became Achy Breaky Heart. In his bitterness, he turned to a life of crime, eventually becoming a mafia don. Only now, in his old age, had he managed to reclaim that precious lemon. Now his life was back on track at long last. Achy Breaky Heart thought no-one knew this story, but he was wrong; Mr. Prettybutttercup did, having heard his old boss talking in his sleep many times. And although he felt absolutely terrible (or as sorry as he ever felt, anyway), about taking the lemon, Prettybuttercup knew that in order for the big plan to succeed, he had to. It appeared terrible personal tragedy was inevitable, as is so often the case. Prettybuttercup faced Achy Breaky Heart and told him his decision.

“I will join you in your plan, Achy Breaky Heart. My sidekicks and I will accompany you on your mission. We will help rally the inhabitants of the Gummi Empire to your cause, and destroy the Penguin Mob Speakeasy”.

The aged don smiled. “Excellent. Welcome back into my employ, old chum. Now, let’s be going”.

He turned to his other employees. “Cowpoke Pete, ready the Implementing The Plan equipment!”

Pete grinned, and leaned over to pull a lever set into the wall. Immediately the secret base began to vibrate and tremble. Then, it rose off the ground on mechanical tire treads, like a giant tank. Prettybuttercup, who had no idea the secret base could move, was completely shocked.

“How does he do it? he gasped, flabbergasted.

“It’s stolen tech, boss” whispered the Snitch, “taken from the Queen’s Castle, which must move around The Road in order to gather supplies. But I didn’t tell you nuffin.”

Prettybuttercup was disturbed. With all this new, high-tech equipment, Achy Breaky Heart was clearly more powerful than ever. Stealing back the lemon might be harder than he thought.

 

[Deranged Nasat]

Re: My old story has returned, so I'll share it. Warning- really, weir

Chapter Ten: The Spirit of the Dodo

The heroes had reached the Dodo Monument. Standing at this holy site, sacred to all birds, they were silent for a minute and bowed their heads. Then...

“Hey, what’s that?” asked Tom, suddenly pointing. A large bird was standing nearby, apparently talking at length. They looked closer, and saw that it was a goose. He didn’t look like a very respectable goose; in fact he looked downright shady. Nevertheless, he clearly took pride in his heritage, for upon his chest he wore a sign reading “Yes, I am a Proper Gander”. Next to this was a badge reading “State Authority”. Intrigued, Donny and his companions walked over. Surrounding the goose were many smaller birds, songbirds, and it soon became clear they were in a bad shape. Their eyes were glazed, and they seemed unnaturally attentive to everything the goose said. In fact, it became obvious that they had been brainwashed, for they had fallen under the influence of Proper Gander. As the heroes drew closer, they could begin to hear what the goose was saying. He was speaking about the benefits of converting to his state religion and showing loyalty to the ideologies of its tyrannical leader.

“Join the regime of the Falcon. Live by His guidelines. Obey His commands. Feel His love. Do not worry that other birds never return from communion with Him. For His is the only way and His heart is strong. This is Proper Gander! Only the way of the Falcon offers the true path to enlightenment, goodness, wholesome purity, spiritual understanding, kindness, and a quick and painless death”

“Don’t listen to him!” cried a thrush, desperately, as Donny approached. “Save yourself! I can barely resist any longer!” He tried to say something else, but then his eyes glazed over again.

The Gander gabbled on. “The Falcon is justice. The Falcon is love. The Falcon is hungr- eh, I mean, He’s hope.”

That didn’t sound quite right to Donny, but still, he was feeling a sudden strong urge to sit and listen to the sermon. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tom’s head start to droop. With a jolt of horror, Donny realized he and Tom were coming under the sway of the Proper Gander’s rhetoric. Desperately looking around- must resist urge to believe- he saw the Apathetic Weasel, who looked as bored as ever.

“Why aren’t you affected, Apathetic Weasel?” the boy cried.

“To tell you the truth” said the Weasel, shrugging, “I’ve just never really been able to motivate myself to start bothering about ideology, politics or state religion”.

“You must help us, Weasel” Donny cried, “do something! Quickly!”

Sighing in a put-upon sort of way, the Apathetic Weasel slowly trundled over to the monument itself, to see if that helped. Then, his eyes widened. Upon the monument sat a single brown nut; the famed Dodonut of myth. It had appeared as if from no-where (well what else was I going to do? Give you a reasoned plot? Ha!). For a moment, the Weasel simply couldn’t believe it. But it had to be believed, because there it was. He knew the signs. In addition to being the chosen one, Donny was clearly the Keeper of the Dodonut, the one given the power to channel the Spirit of the Dodo. It strains credibility, I know, but there it is.
“Donny, catch this!” said the Weasel, and he threw the sacred nut at the boy. As soon as he caught it in his hands, it was as if Donny could hear a voice inside his very soul.

“Open your heart, Donny Tulip! Feel the power of the Dodonut move you!”

In awe, Donny realized it was the Spirit of the Dodo itself. Knowing he had little choice, Donny braced himself, before opening his heart, and surrendering himself to the spiritual presence of the dead flightless pigeon. Suddenly, the sky darkened, and Donny began to tremble, as if unable to contain his own power.
The Proper Gander suddenly found himself losing control. The carefully constructed field of illusion, of influence and hypnosis, was collapsing into pieces. In panic, he realized the birds were coming out of their trance, thinking clearly once more only to then be mesmerized again by Donny’s presence. Everyone knew they were now blessed with a visit from a great spiritual power, even wiser than the Holy Orange Radish of Quum, and Proper Gander simply couldn’t compete. A storm sprung up out of nowhere, kicking up clouds of leaves and dust, filling the air with a haunting wail. The whirlwind of noise and darkness centred around the form of Donny Tulip, who was now tapping deep within the realm of the spirits, channelling the appropriate deity. The birds began to tremble, for the time of reckoning had come. The true god of all birds was made manifest.

“I AM THE SPIRIT OF THE DODO” thundered the entity, in Donny’s voice. “THE DO-DOOOOOO!”, he added, waving his arms wildly. The birds all cowered in awe and fear, including the Proper Gander, who had gone quite pale. “I AM THE ONLY BIRD WISE ENOUGH TO FORGET BOTH HOW TO FLY AND HOW TO DEFEND ITSELF, AND SO BE WIPED OUT IN A RIDICULOUSLY QUICK AMOUNT OF TIME” continued the possessed Donny.

“It’s true, it’s true!” cried a nodding wren, clutching her chicks to her chest and weeping from a combination of joy and terror.

“DO NOT LISTEN TO PROPER GANDER!” thundered the Spirit, pointing Donny’s finger at the goose, who recoiled in horror. “THE ONE TRUE FAITH IS REALLY THAT OF DODO WORSHIP. DO-DOOOOO WOR-SHIPPPP!” Several of the more religiously devout birds fainted, but the display was coming to an end.

“REMEMBER!” bellowed Donny/Dodo “THE DODO YOUR GOD IS A JEALOUS GOD. WORSHIP NOT FALSE IDOLS. SAY NO TO MURDER, ADULTERY, AND VIDEO PIRACY. THANK YOU AND GOOD NIGHT”.

With that, as suddenly as it had begun, the mysterious tempest dissipated; the sky was clear once more. There was, not surprisingly given the awe-inspiring nature of the previous moments, a dead silence from the crowd. Donny, standing triumphant before the monument, knew he had the gratitude of the Spirit, which gave him the psychic equivalent of a friendly pat on the back before departing completely.

Proper Gander began to gibber. Then the thrush whooped once, and ran forward to shake Donny’s hand.
“All hail Donny Tulip, saviour of bird kind!” he cried. The birds all cheered, Tom cheered, and the Apathetic Weasel said “woo-hoo” in a dull and uninterested voice. This show of support meant a lot to Donny, who for the first time felt like a true hero. You might want to point out that he hadn’t actually done anything, and that the Spirit had done the real work so really he was the one who should be praised. Shut up. You’re ruining my story.

Donny felt refreshed, as if the channelling had cleansed his very soul of doubt and dirt. To say nothing of the fact that everyone was impressed with him. Well, there was one person present who did not look impressed, of course. The Gander had lost the battle, but as he picked himself up and dusted himself down, his face made it clear he wasn’t giving up the war. Facing Donny, who waited expectantly, the Gander pointed at him with one long wing.

“My path in life is now clear” the bird said. “From this day forward I must follow you around persistently, popping up at inappropriate times to pester you into joining my religion, telling you of the Falcon’s true plans for you and splashing my holy water over everything you touch. Such is the will of the Falcon”.
Donny faced the goose down, sternly. It was clear to all present that his spiritual experience had given him a considerable and beneficial confidence boost.

“You do as you wish, Gander, but I tell you, you will not succeed. For I am the chosen one, and the Keeper of the Dodonut! The one who can channel the Spirit of the Dodo and bring His Word to all birds. As I walk The Road, I will unite all birds under his wisdom, foresight and authority. The world of the birds shall be united in truth, it is inevitable, yadda yadda yadda. Pester me as you will, Proper Gander. I’ll never be taken in by you, and neither will any bird we meet!”

The Gander shook in anger. “We shall see” he said, attempting to recover his dignity, “soon you shall fall before the unstoppable force of ideological extremism, blind faith and holy water!” He made the sign of the Falcon, before disappearing in a puff of smoke.
..........................................................................

The heroes were in a triumphant mood as they moved on that evening, further down The Road. They had had a wonderful celebratory meal cooked by the songbirds. More than that, they had made allies and ever-lasting friends of said birds, which would surely be greatly useful to them in the long run. They had proven themselves in battle at last, vanquishing a foe rather than running away like cowards. Donny felt he had matured, or at least become slightly less unconvincing as a hero. Armed with the small wet dishcloth of Offense, possessing the power to decode things written in code AND being able to channel the Spirit of the Dodo, Donny was no longer a totally useless, shy 14-year old with no personality. He was now a mostly useless, shy 14-year old with no personality. Let the Proper Gander, or anyone else, try to prevent him saving the birds, or catching up to and impressing Croakers Jones. He’d show them....

 

[Deranged Nasat]

Re: My old story has returned, so I'll share it. Warning- really, weir

Chapter Eleven: In which it is revealed Emu isn’t totally useless after all.

It was a normal day in the city. The Bus Driver’s bus had been stolen, and he was currently running around wildly, grabbing random people and crying “who stole my bus?!!” in his scratchy voice. Most people suspected Joe, who was known to need transportation to the archaeological ruins of Grisselow, in order to raid the tomb of the Atheistic God and find the perfect polish formula for his glasses. Two more bodies had surfaced in the pond, believed to be victims of the Duck of Doom, which had returned after one famous killing-spree to allow a pointless sequel. Wildlife filmmaker Rachael was throwing lemurs off of the Post Office roof, to see how they would react, while House Bo’mo’jo had declared feud following the Vampire’s theft of the grand piano. In fact, the only unusual occurrence that day was that Professor Emu was actually doing something actively useful.

Upon the wall of his laboratory was a sign with an arrow pointing off in the other direction. It read: “secret meeting, in here. Unless you’re a villain, in which case it’s over there”. For Emu had organized a conference. He had invited the Butcher, the Baker, the Candlestick Maker, le Artiste, local aristocrat Madame Pomm, and famed local businessman Pablo Duplicitous “Papa” D’Plu. All were community figures of good standing, and all, he hoped, would listen to his awful truths, being too strong-willed to be manipulated by Magic, Magic E or Your Computer. Emu stood, watching anxiously, as all six guests took their seats. The Butcher, a fat, red faced man in a blood-soaked apron, had bought his “Porkmaker” axe, and was swinging it about wildly. The Baker, a well-dressed weedy figure with a big moustache, was muttering to himself about bread. The Candlestick Maker, who had no distinguishing features whatsoever, is too boring to describe here. Le Artiste presented his fellows with a paint-splattered cloak and a black beret upon his head. He looked around with disdain, a sneer playing across his lips every time he observed a person clueless as to the nature of true art, which was anyone. Madame Pomm sat draped in a pink sash and half a ton of shiny jewels, looking imperious. She held the title of Fifth Duchess of Tip-Topington, and hereditary owner of the Puffy Pink Poodle of Sophistry and Good Breeding, which sat at her feet. In her gloved hand she held a small glass of champagne. D’Plu, who ran a monopoly on most conceivable things in the region and officially owned much of the city, looked fat and unhealthy, but Emu knew he possessed a sharp mind and 17 Billion dollars for when that failed. He was by far the most powerful of those present.

Clearing his throat for attention, Emu was rewarded with silence, and quickly, lest he should become too nervous to continue, he launched into his speech. “My fellow inhabitants of the urban area where the story’s hero originates, thank you for coming. I have grave news as to the true intentions of Mr. Teppup, the future of the world and the fulfilment of old prophecies. Although young Donny Tulip, the prophesised one, is currently attempting to save us all from evil, recently I’ve felt bad about placing children in danger while sitting here myself safe and sound. Thus, I have decided to make a half-hearted effort to actually do something”.

Le Artiste sneered derisively, for true artists did not do, they brooded and simmered. The others, however, looked interested.

“This sounds better than yet another game of polo with Lord Snobbington” said Madame Pomm, “I’m glad I came”.

“Yeah” said the Butcher, eagerly, “tell us what all this is about”.

Emu, using a combination of speech, hand puppets and coloured stick-figures on a whiteboard, therefore presented his guests with the Awful Truth, as revealed through the prophecy of the Purple Badgers.

“Now that’s simply not proper” said Madame Pomm, in disgust, once Emu had finished.

“How could a consumer of bread-based products conceive of such an evil scheme?” asked the Baker, horrified, “it goes against everything the Bakery Association stands for!”

“I never liked Teppup” said D’Plu, “his business success has led to a decline in profits elsewhere, including all 756 companies owned, micromanaged and exploited by D’Plu Enterprises Conglomerate. His scheme to gain ULTIMATE POWER and conquer the world is a serious threat to my obsessively greedy monopolizing. In fact, his usage of the phrases “public relations”, “annual budget”, “the”, and “of” are gross violations of D.E.C trademarked terms”.

Emu beamed at them. “So we’re all agreed” he said, “Teppup’s plan must be disrupted”.

“But how?” inquired the Candlestick Maker, who has up to this point been too boring to warrant a line, but he’s here, so I guess I have to use him sometimes.

Le Artiste sneered and rolled his eyes. “We can do nothing”, he said, “all around us is darkness and despair. Such is life”.

The other guests looked crestfallen, but Emu, wise old professor as he was, had an ace up his sleeve. Pressing a button on his podium, he summoned his surprise associate into the room. It was a small, pathetic looking scientist, which wasn’t a very good surprise but was at least something.

“Lady and lowerclassmen” said Emu, “allow me to introduce Doctor Under Minestein, chief Launcher-of-Space-Stuff at WILD GOOSE, the foremost space exploration agency in the land.”

Wringing his hands, Dr. Minestein came forward to address the crowd. “For the last few months, I have been working for the Villainous Order of 13, led by Teppup and WorldConquest’n’Enslavement INC. This was not by choice, for Teppup has kidnapped Mr. Beany, the happy inanimate companion whose presence shields me from the dangers and traumas of real life. I cannot allow Mr. Beany to be damaged in any way. However, I also cannot in good conscience keep hidden the fact that Teppup is misusing WILD GOOSE for a most evil purpose. I have, using a combination of advanced calculations and eavesdropping, deduced that Teppup has sent the Probe of Power to make contact with the Aliens From Up Above, who will be ready to invade any day now, as part of Teppup’s big impressive display.”

Le Artiste sighed dramatically, for the Aliens From Up Above did not understand the drudgery and despair that was the essence of existence. Instead they wanted to be proactive and help conquer the world. Everyone else simply looked worried.

“This is somewhat serious, people” said Emu, “I am declaring Code Purple, only two colours below Code Red”. He turned briefly to a coloured paper chart pinned to the wall, unpinned the accompanying marker and reattached it next to the Purple bar. This done, he returned his attention to the room. “We must agree, now, to work together in order to foil this plan and so help Donny Tulip be the first to claim ULTIMATE POWER”.

“And how are we to do that?” inquired the Baker, “the people are all in full support of Teppup, and we have as yet no proof of his evil to give them”.

“It’s true” said Minestein, “the manipulations of Magic, Magic E have totally convinced the populace of Teppup’s good intentions”.

Emu pondered; “When the Aliens From Up Above arrive in orbit, we must be ready. We must quickly gather photographic evidence, bring it to the people, and confront Teppup. Then everyone will turn against him, as Average Citizens always do when confronted by their leader’s evil. Any objections? No? Good. Then we must prepare!”

The guests leapt out of their chairs.

“I’ll hand out axes, knives and other sharp weapons to everyone” said the Butcher, “as well as providing protein-rich foodstuffs to power our bodies in battle”.

“I’ll make bread!” cried the Baker “Bread so good, that the aroma will spread throughout the town, drawing the crowds to my shop in order for us to make a speech to them all at once”.

“I’ll make candles!” said the Candlestick Maker, who still isn’t interesting.

“I shall sneer derisively at all those who do not understand true art” said le Artiste, “which will unnerve the villains”.

Papa D’Plu fingered his wads of cash. “I shall use my fortune to buy us the best, most reliable cameras in the world, so our evidence will be undeniable”.

“I shall demonstrate to the crowd that their social betters shun Teppup, and to continue supporting him would be dreadfully low and vulgar” said Madame Pomm, haughtily.

Emu smiled, quite satisfied. His instincts, it seemed, had been spot on. He had chosen his allies well, and now, when Teppup made his move, his preparations for the big impressive display he thought would bring him ULTIMATE POWER would be disrupted. For public support would turn away from him as soon as the conspirators had evidence of Alien From Up Above involvement. It was that simple. Furthermore, by lying low until that vital moment, Emu and his allies could also avoid the unwanted attention of the villains. In fact, although obviously doomed to fail so that Donny can save the day at the last minute, it was a very good plan. Quite worthy of supporting characters, to give them something to do.

“Okay then, people” said Emu, brightly, “until the time is right, go about your lives normally. Goodbye for now!”
.............................................................................

Meanwhile, somewhere on The Road, Donny Tulip had come to a decision. Having taken advice from a recently encountered Bum - who was actually the Mayor of Bumtown on official wandering duty -Donny had decided to head in the general direction of the Penguin Mob Speakeasy. For that was a location populated by birds, and it was now Donny’s sacred duty to deliver all feathered life-forms from the evil influence of Proper Gander, and the villainous authority it served, the Falcon. Fulfilling this duty for the Penguins might influence Fat Pedro, the owner of the Speakeasy, into providing transportation, allowing the heroes to catch up to Croakers Jones that much quicker.

Little did Donny and his friends know, however, that their path to the Speakeasy would require passing the most terrifying and soul-destroying place on The Road; the Old Folk’s Home. Well, the Apathetic Weasel knew, but he didn’t bother telling the others, because he just didn’t care. And so Donny and company moved ever closer to the stuffy domain of the Old Folk...

*DRAMATIC CLIFFHANGER*.

 

[Deranged Nasat]

Re: My old story has returned, so I'll share it. Warning- really, weir

Chapter Twelve: God save the Queen

And so, presently, Donny and his friends arrived at the Old Folks Home. As soon as they did, the Apathetic Weasel pointed to it and said:

“Oh no. The Old Folk’s Home. The people here are big trouble.”

“What’s wrong with elderly people?” asked Donny, confused, “they’re no different from anyone else, when you get right down to it”.

“These aren’t normal old people such as you’d meet in the street, Donny” said the Apathetic Weasel, “These are stereotyped useless old fogies, as written by an insensitive and offensive author for cheap laughs”.

Even as he spoke, the Old Folk, attracted by the scent of life that was still meaningful, were emerging from the Home, wrapped in blankets and squinting.

“They’ve spotted us! Run!” cried Tom.

They did so, but the Old Folk inched after them, hobbling on sticks and Zimmer frames.

“It’s no use, Donny!” cried Tom, “they’re very slowly and labouredly pursuing us! We can run all we like, but they are relentless. Eventually, after many months and frequent stops for cream teas and knitting, they would catch up to us and drain us of warmth and life!”

Indeed, the army of shambling Old Folk, cooing, muttering about tea, the good old days, and hot water bottles, showed no signs of giving up the chase. Donny knew he would have to fight, so he pulled out the small wet dishcloth of Offense. He threw it at the enemy, with a brave cry of “taste dishcloth, old people!”

A wizened 80-year-old tripped and fell, knocking over another man on a Zimmer frame. The other old folk, however, merely tutted and murmured, “not in my day” or, “shocking” and continued their advance. Luckily, just as it seemed all was lost, a castle drove round the corner, knocking trees over and heading right for the Old Folk’s Home, or, more accurately, past it. Atop the castle stood a knight in shining armour, along with a white haired old lady wearing a crown.

“It’s Her Majesty the Queen” said the Apathetic Weasel, “As a representative of the government I know her by sight quite well.”

“Quick!” said Donny, “get onto the castle! It’s our only hope!”

The heroes quickly climbed aboard the drawbridge as the castle went by, Donny grabbing the dishcloth back before doing so. The Queen, from the battlements, was calling, “Out of One’s way! One is quite busy!” The old people, faced with this command, dispersed, muttering bitterly about kids these days, the price of teabags, and their aching joints. The heroes meanwhile climbed to the top of the castle, and so to safety.
Relieved, Donny and Tom faced the Queen, while the Apathetic Weasel sat there, disinterested.

“Sir Sneeralot, who has come aboard One’s castle?” asked the Queen, squinting at them.

“Two useless-looking boys and an anthropomorphized mustelid, Your Majesty”

“That’s right” said Donny, smoothly, “and we thank you for the rescue, Your Majesty. Where is this castle, eh, going?”

“One is on a journey to the Penguin Mob Speakeasy” replied the Queen, which is another of those happy coincidences.

“You’re heading for the Speakeasy?” said Donny, delighted, “that’s great, so are we!”

Sneeralot scowled. “We have to stop off elsewhere first .We are on an urgent diplomatic mission to New America. As Her Majesty’s castle wanders The Road, it requires frequent supplies of food. The only reliable source of food in this barren region is the Last McDonald’s on Earth, but the Americans control access to it as they are the only ones who can operate the Red, White and Blue Cable Car. Recently, they have sealed their borders from outsiders, due to the rustling of unprocessed burgers from the Field of Cows. The infamous cattle rustler, Cowpoke Pete, is suspected to be responsible. Now, the Americans are only trading with the Penguin Imperium, thanks to a treaty with the Penguin Mob Speakeasy. Our job is to jolly well convince them to trade with us again. Then, we’re off to the Speakeasy to negotiate an agreement with the Penguins”.

“And what if the Americans won’t trade with you?” asked Donny.

Sneeralot drew himself up to his full height and puffed out his chest. “We have recently acquired weapons-grade Puff Pastries from the French Army. Although we hope for peaceful resolution, I have orders from Her Majesty to unleash the pastries should the upstart Americans prove unresponsive. That’ll teach the yanks to underestimate our armed forces. They think they’re so great, but they would be nothing without their incidental outdated connection to us!”

Donny looked confused, possibly doubting how great and superior Britain is. The Queen therefore explained her position further.

“One does not wish to come across as aggressive, but One must take into account the ongoing political crisis. Jerry the Hun has taken a highly hostile stance over the territorial dispute in the North. He claims that the Germans have ancestral claims to the Mile High Bunny and all surrounding lands. His so-called-evidence is the recently recovered diary of Adolf Bullshitler, which claims that this noted German explorer climbed the Bunny back in 1882, before succumbing to the Cascade of Stuffing. Of course, other countries in the Infighting Nations are offended by this sabre-rattling. The Russians, led by General Shoveov and Colonel Paranoius, have dispatched a task force to claim the Bunny for themselves, saying their ownership of the nearby Vodka Bog extends to the giant stuffed rabbit, too. This in turn has alienated the French, as Buster Le Grange is usually considered to have planted the first flag at the base of the Bunny. These squabbling foreigners lack discipline. The British are required to impose it upon them. Thus, we must regain as much power and booty as possible. Only be securing a constant supply of food from the Americans and gaining the trust of the Penguins can we ensure Britain’s star rises as it should”.

Donny nodded. “So can my friends and I come?” he asked, hopefully.

“I’m not sure if we have room aboard the Castle for outsiders, especially foreigners” said Sneeralot.

Donny was thinking quickly, however, not wanting to be left to the Old Folk or miss this great opportunity for quick transportation. “I know just how to help, Your Majesty!” he said. “As the Keeper of the Dodonut, I have the ability to channel the Spirit of the Dodo, true god of all birds. It is likely I can influence Fat Pedro into making decisions in your favour”.

The Queen looked impressed. “Very well then, if you agree to serve One at the Speakeasy, One shall take you with One. One shall also make you a knight of the realm as your just reward”.

Sir Sneeralot looked scandalised, but Donny was very pleased. Tom, for his part, simply looked uncertain. Noticing his friend’s hesitation, Donny decided to get his companion’s opinions before proceeding. This was, after all, a heroic quest, and heroes had to be distastefully democratic at times.

“Group conference!” he said, and he, Tom and the Apathetic Weasel huddled together.

“I’m not sure about this, Donny” said Tom, “is it right for us to interfere in the politics of the region? Shouldn’t we just aim to reach the Tower of Babel as quickly as possible and avoid making new enemies?”

Donny considered the argument, but he thought he detected several flaws. He told his friend; “As Sir Donny Tulip, I would be considerably more impressive, making it more likely that Croakers Jones will grant me ULTIMATE POWER. Anyway, this is the quickest transportation to the Speakeasy,- despite the stop at New America - and at the Speakeasy we can arrange quick transportation to the Tower of Babel and Croakers Jones, due to my influence over birds of all descriptions”.

“This story is getting ridiculously convoluted” said the Apathetic Weasel “how do you keep track of it all?”

“Do I detect a hit of motivation, Weasel?” said Donny sternly.

“Oops, sorry, got to keep in character” said the Weasel, not that he really cared, of course.

Donny turned back to the Queen. “I agree to help you win over the Penguins, in exchange for transportation to the Speakeasy and a knighthood” he said confidently. The Queen nodded, pleased.

“Then let us once more be underway to New America. Sneeralot, send one of those new and advanced “faxes” to Ambassador Hank the Yank. Instruct him to unroll the red carpet. One will not be amused if One has to sully One’s slippers upon arrival.”

She turned once more to Donny as the Castle began to move. “It is imperative we reaffirm British superiority over everything foreign. The situation is dire, as this recording, from only yesterday, shows. One is most concerned as to how quickly things have deteriorated. Sir. Sneeralot, play the tape!”

Sneeralot walked over to a piece of equipment on the wall.

“This advanced British technology is known as a “VCR”” he said, “and its video cassettes are considerably bigger and bulkier than those primitive DVDs used in Japan or America, which are too slim to be easily grasped in the hand.”

He slid the cassette into the VCR, replaying that which it had earlier recorded. The screen showed a diplomatic conference in the Infighting Nations. Representatives of every major country sat around gossiping and talking about what they’d do at the weekend. One diplomat had taken a beautifully-worded draft treaty between Israel and Palestine and turned it into a paper airplane, ready to throw at the Japanese ambassador. As Donny and friends watched, the Secretary General strolled in, and moved up behind the central podium.

“Order!, Order!” he said, “Everyone pay attention. Get out from under the table, Nukasaki”.

“It had a nose-cone, Mr. Secretary! A nose-cone!” cried the Japanese ambassador, from somewhere out of sight.

“Skip to the fighting” said the Queen, and Sneeralot wound the tape forward to a scene where a tense discussion had deteriorated into physical confrontation. Jerry the Hun, enraged at the accusations of Russian leader Spazputin, had an arm tight around his neck, while bashing him over the head with a frankfurter. The Italian representative, Bigphoni, was cheering him on, while Sed Hu of China was picking up his chair ready to throw it at someone. Roojacker Bruce, the Australian emissary, was pouring the combatants a beer and making enthusiastic noises, while Abdul of Egypt was taking bets on the outcomes and loading his camel with banknotes. The Enlightened Shamu of Bhutan was shaking his head at this unwarranted violence, while dropping multiple security guards with lightning-fast jabs of the hand. The Secretary General, sporting a black eye, climbed back up before the podium and made a closing announcement. “Peaceful discussion between equals has failed! Diplomatic relations have broken down! Conflict appears inevitable!” His voice quickly went dull and monotone; “The 415th Infighting Nations summit is concluded. Dismissed.”

With whoops and cheers, most of the representatives finished fighting and sprinted for the next room, where dedicated civil servants would have left sandwiches. It was clear, however, from the expressions on Jerry and Spazputin’s faces, that the situation was serious. Donny understood now. If the Queen didn’t reaffirm Britain’s innate superiority soon, who knew what might happen? Foreigners would destroy the world without proper British oversight, for such was the foreign way. They just couldn’t be trusted.

“We’d better get going” sighed Donny, as the tape ended. He was somewhat annoyed at all these side quests he kept getting pulled into. If anything, Croakers Jones would probably have liked a big war, but Donny had to protect the world from evil, and that included destructive international conflict.

The Queen now took her leave of the heroes. “If you will excuse One, One has the Pointless Ritual of Pomposity to perform. These things must be done in order to keep up proper British appearances”.

Donny and company were therefore left to sit atop the Castle battlements and watch the scenery go by. Little did Donny know, however, that the Castle was taking him into- you guessed it- danger! For at that very moment, Richard Nixon, Baron von Wonky-Bonky, and General Purple had alighted in New America, ready to implement the latest stage of the big plot. It seemed a violent encounter was inevitable; how will our heroes fare this time?

 

[Deranged Nasat]

Re: My old story has returned, so I'll share it. Warning- really, weir

Chapter Thirteen: Donny’s Parents Do Something Now

By now, several days had passed since Donny’s adventures began, if I’m remembering correctly. It therefore seems likely that his parents might have noticed his absence by now. Yes, indeed, Mr. Henry Tulip and Mrs Drusilla Tulip were frantically searching the town for their missing son, who hadn’t returned home from school that first night, due to being on a quest and all. They didn’t know about that of course. Anyway, Mr and Mrs Tulip were very concerned. Anything might have happened to their only child. He might have been abducted by spoons. He might have fallen down a large hole and broken his ankle. He might have been savaged to death by the Duck of Doom. Mr. and Mrs. Tulip had visited the police station, but Officer Longarmov da Law wasn’t very helpful.

"I sympathise” he told them sadly, “but unless you have actual evidence of a crime taking place, we can’t help you. This police force only deals with serious business, crimes, for example failure to pay parking tickets or graffiti. Missing children don’t come under our umbrella. I suggest you attempt an inefficient desperate search around the city, stopping people at random in order to ask if they’ve seen your son".

And so the Tulips were currently wandering the city looking for evidence of Donny.

It was another ordinary day in the city. The Bus Driver had found his bus, upside down in the groceries aisle of Tesco’s, and with tentacled monstrosities from the dawn of time chewing on the seats. Joe continued to deny having stolen it in order to raid lost tombs, but his case was looking weaker. The army was engaged in a street battle on Haveadue Avenue, desperately spraying bullets at the Duck of Doom, which was advancing into the shopping district at a slow waddle, occasionally almost being stepped on by absentminded citizens. Wildlife Documenter Rachael was painting cows green and sprinkling them in red glitter, to see how they would react. House Bo’mo’jo had issued an ultimatum for the return of the Grand Piano, but the Vampires were simply laughing, and flicking water at them from an upstairs window. The normality was offset only by the frightening position the Tulips found themselves in. They could find no-one who knew where Donny was, or had seen him for the last few days. Eventually, Mrs. Drusilla Tulip had an idea.

"Donny walks home from school with Tom, Sam and Wilbur” she said, “if we find one of those other boys, they might be able to tell us something!”

"By the Radish!” cried Mr. Henry Tulip, “you’re right dear. Let’s head for the Music Man’s shop”.

Wilbur and Sam both earned some money with part time jobs there, and so it was a good place to start looking for them. As they walked through the city, the couple passed many people discussing the latest news, and how business was working out. Profits for D’Plu Enterprises Conglomerate were plummeting in favour of WorldConquest’n’Enslavement INC. In fact, a newspaper salesman filled the Tulips in on some of Teppup’s activities as they strolled past.

“Read all about it! After successful launch of the Second Probe of Power, Teppup and senior members of his team journey The Road, on official “Making Things Impressive For All Citizens, *Wink*, *Wink*” business".

“Sounds like something major’s going on” observed Mr. Henry Tulip thoughtfully, though he didn’t stop to buy the paper. Eventually, the couple reached the docks, where the Music Man’s shop was located. They walked past a deeply unpleasant ship captain, who was being violently sick over a port official while simultaneously cursing at the top of his voice, and entered the shop. As their eyes adjusted to the darkness, they became aware of a man dressed in black velvet sitting behind a desk.

"Are you the Music Man?” asked Mr. Henry Tulip. The figure in black nodded solemnly, before saying,

“I am the Music Man. I come from down your way. And I can play...”

He trailed off, and after a few seconds the Tulips realized he was waiting expectantly. He moved his hand in a circular ‘come on’ gesture.

“What can you play??” asked Mr. Henry Tulip, finally.

The Music Man nodded, before replying, “I can play piano”.

The Tulips were silent for a moment. “That’s nice, Mr. Music Man, but we were hoping you could tell us if Sam or Wilbur are here at the moment” said Mrs. Drusilla Tulip, hopefully.

“They aren’t at the moment, no” was the reply, “though they were earlier”.

“Do you know if they know anything about Donny’s whereabouts?” said Mrs. Drusilla Tulip, wringing her hands in worry.

The Music Man considered. “Sam and Wilbur seem unusually quiet of late, I must admit, as if they have some big secret about the fate of the world and the vanquishing of evil to conceal, or something. Who knows? My thoughts on the subject...Wait! What is that music?” For a tune had started playing, and it had grabbed the Music Man’s attention. It was a tingly, rather crappy but addictive tune, and all three of them quickly found themselves humming along.

“It’s coming from the dock outside” said Mr. Henry Tulip, and they rushed out to see what was happening. It seemed the source of the music was a vessel presently docking, and a crowd had gathering round excitedly to greet the new arrival. For it appeared the local ice-cream trade was about to experience a wake-up call. Justice had returned to the industry; the Musical Iceberg had alighted. As the crowd waited in awed silence, a penguin in a posh bow tie stepped onto the dock, followed by an impressive humanoid figure. He wore a suit of shiny white armour and a flowing white cape, and on his head was a helmet, with points resembling ice-cream cones.

“It’s Whippy-man, the Many Flavoured Knight!” gasped a woman. You, of course, have met this character before, and you know that Whippy-man, AKA the Many Flavoured Knight, was the secret crime-fighting identity of millionaire Swirly McToothdecay. The other characters didn’t know, though; none suspected. Whippy-man addressed the crowd in a deep voice.

"I am looking for Teppup, in order to avenge his blow to the ice-cream production industry. I hear he has business in the city.”

"Teppup? The smooth-talking, mysterious and powerful businessman with headquarters in the Land of Evil, who also happens to have convinced us all of his good intentions?” asked a woman in the crowd, “why would you have a problem with him?”

Whippy-man frowned. “The ice-cream industry lies in ruins thanks to his theft of government resources relating to the space program. It is vital I confront him".

"He’s not here” volunteered Mr. Henry Tulip, “he and his team have gone to The Road, in order to prepare impressiveness as part of some mysterious plot”.

Whippy-man stroked his chin, considering this.

“Sir” said Penguin Lord Hubblebottom, quietly, “I have contacts in The Road who can help us. I recommend we set a course for the Penguin Mob Speakeasy at once. My nephew, Fat Pedro, is in charge there, and he will know of Teppup’s current whereabouts on The Road, I guarantee it".

“Very well, Penguin Lord Hubblebottom” said Whippy-man, “we shall do just that.”

After waving to the crowd, he strode confidently back aboard the Iceberg and began making preparations to leave. The Tulips watched for a bit.

“Perhaps we should investigate further into this Teppup figure” said Mr. Henry Tulip, “he seems important for some reason. I’m sure I read about him once, and...Donny? Hmmmm, something the grandson of Paulo the Purple Badger hunter once gave me.”

Mrs. Drusilla Tulip felt a tingle of excitement. “Music Man!” she commanded, “return to our home and rummage through our drawers for old and forgotten prophecies, quickly! We’ll continue searching for Donny here”.

The Music Man nodded, before jogging off towards the Tulip Home. It seems everyone was getting ready for some action, now. The Musical Iceberg, for instance, had just begun to float away in the direction of The Road. Little did Swirly McToothdecay know, however, that another vessel was following him out of the dock, and this was none other than the pirate ship F**k You, under the command of Captain Unpleasant (if you’re slow, I’ll point out here that it was him being sick earlier). So another contrived confrontation was imminent, to say nothing of how crowded it’s gonna get at the Speakeasy...

 

[Deranged Nasat]

Re: My old story has returned, so I'll share it. Warning- really, weir

Okay, 26 chapters in all. Here's number 14.

Chapter Fourteen: Hail to the Chief

The Villainous Order of 13 was busy indeed. With the Aliens From Up Above on their way, it was time to ensure the other components of the impressive display were ready, so Croakers Jones would find the Order worthy of attaining ULTIMATE POWER. To that end, the Cosy Mobile Home of Evil was driving on autopilot along The Road, heading for the Attractions District, where Hollywood, Jurassic Park and Hell were located. For it was Teppup’s hope that by unleashing the film-star celebrities, the dinosaurs, and the demons all together, and having spacecraft buzzing overhead as well, he could make the most impressive home-made movie ever.

Only six of the villains were actually in the Cosy Mobile Home of Evil; Teppup, Lady Darkness, Sane Professor Mad, Magic, Magic E, Your Computer and the Turtle. General Purple, Baron von Wonky-Bonky and Richard Nixon had been dispatched to New America, in order to trick the Americans into filming the impressive display being planned. Captain Unpleasant was pursuing Swirly McToothdecay in the F**k You. Mr. Prettybuttercup, the Snitch and ??? were retrieving the lemon, to ensure the impressiveness would not be ruined by the loss of the banana in Goox-boox. In fact, almost all was going according to plan.

“Good, very good” purred Teppup, tenting his fingers and leaning back in his chair. His face then soured, however. “The only downside is that Donny Tulip escaped from us, meaning we were unable to force him to join our order. This represents a real problem, as, however unlikely, there is a chance he might screw up our plans at the last minute by doing something heroic. The prophecy of the Purple Badgers must not be allowed to come true in its entirety. I want methods of neutralizing that kid, people”.

The other villains in attendance thought for a moment; save the Turtle, which simply watched. “If someone could get close enough to place one of my pointy wizard hats upon him, he would easily be turned to evil” said Magic, Magic E, “We all know the headgear I supply is the source of our dark power. For Hat becomes Hate with me”.

“Why didn’t you suggest this earlier, when you actually faced Donny Tulip in battle on the Cow?” asked Sane Professor Mad “as opposed to only now, when it’s too late to be of use?”

Magic, Magic E glared at him. “Because it costs too much to ship my hats out with me every time I fly long-distance. Or have you forgotten that Far becomes Fare with me?”

“But that still doesn’t explain why only now you...”.

“Settle down, Professor” commanded Teppup, “villainous plots do not have to make sense. Unfortunately, we don’t know where Donny is, so we can’t place a hat upon his head anyway”. He went thoughtful as he considered another option. “If we made a general broadcast in which Lady Darkness acted very seductive, couldn’t we brainwash him into seeking her out and walking right into our hands?”

“Don’t be disgusting” said Lady Darkness, “he’s fourteen. I’m an adult woman. There is no room in this story for such disturbing suggestions. Start using my character sensibly or I’m quitting”.

“Aren’t we supposed to be villains?” asked Sane Professor Mad, “we’re supposed to do disgusting things!”

“Sane Professor Mad” said Teppup sternly, “cease your attempts to find sense and reason in our plans. There is a time and a place for rationality, and this is not it”.

Shamefaced, Sane Professor Mad hung his head.

“Any other ideas?” asked Teppup. Your Computer, which is far more trouble than it’s worth (have you considered upgrading?) suggested it could simply crash, making the reader unable to follow the story and therefore removing any outside investment in the hero.

“But what if the story transcends the medium of computer text and mutates into a written-on-dead-trees form?” asked Sane Professor Mad, “then Donny will be as strong as ever!”

“Final warning, Professor” said Teppup. Muttering in scientifically-correct terminology, the Professor turned away. The Turtle simply watched.

As the villains drove on, still thinking up useless ideas, a hitchhiker appeared by the side of the road, wrapped in scarves. He was holding up a sign reading ‘Tower of Babel’. “No, don’t stop” said Teppup, “we can’t bring random hitchhikers with us. Anyway, we’re not going directly to the Tower of Babel, we need to make the movie at the Attractions District first”. He put his foot on the accelerator, speeding past the hitchhiker and covering him in dust.

As the villains sped off into the distance, the lone figure sighed theatrically, before unwrapping the scarves to reveal his true form. It was a frog standing on its hind legs, holding a cigar in one hand. “Bloody typical” said Croakers Jones, “guess I’m walking, then. It’s a good thing I’ve got magical powers, or else I’d never get anywhere”. He continued on, heading for the Tower of Babel, muttering cynically as he went.

Meanwhile, Mr. Prettybuttercup and his group watched as the tribes of Gummi Bears grovelled before their new king, Achy Breaky Heart. Everything had gone according to the old don’s plan, which was quite impressive considering how outnumbered the humans were. Upon arriving in the Gummi Empire, they had discovered the Gummi Bear army in battle, fighting against the forces of rogue Deformed Gummi Bears. Those shameful creatures detract from the perfection of Gummi, lacking the carefully sculpted gelatine shape of a true Gummi Bear, and so must be exiled to a colony outside the Empire. These particular Deformed Bears were fighting back, however, and winning. Achy Breaky Heart and the gang rode in to the Empire’s aid, with Prettybuttercup and Cowpoke Pete eating over 100 Deformed Gummis between them. Having therefore won the battle, the army of the Gummi Empire presented the strange giants with the Sickening Sceptre of Sweetness. “We are accepted as members of the tribe” Cowpoke Pete told the team, while chewing on his stem of dried grass. They hit a small snag when some unknown traitor told the King Gummi Bear they were planning to depose him (“but I didn’t tell you nuffin”), but Achy Breaky Heart made a magnificent speech in which he convinced the Gummi army that King Strawberry-flavoured Sammy was well past his use-by date and should be replaced. Possibly because Prettybuttercup was standing beside him flexing his arm muscles, the Gummis immediately accepted Achy Breaky Heart as their new god and emperor. His next speech placed the Gummi Empire on an immediate war footing. “Gummi Bears of all colours and flavours! For too long have you cowered behind your Wall when you should have been advancing as the warriors you are! No longer shall you accept second-class status in your relations with other powers, for example, just-pulling-a-name-out-of-the-air THE PENGUIN IMPERIUM. It is time we showed the world what sugary, gelatinous little bears are truly made of! We shall advance upon the Penguin Mob Speakeasy!!” With much whooping and chanting, the Gummi Bears saluted their new leader. Everyone knew of the simmering racial hatred between Gummi Bears and Penguins, which made so much sense and was so completely obvious in reason, that no-one questioned why the Gummi Bears would suddenly agree to attack the Speakeasy.

And so, the Secret Base of Achy Breaky Heart trundled off to war, carrying thousands upon thousands of Gummi warriors, all armed with Sugar Bombs, E-Number Cannons, and Colouring Grenades, all ready to serve their new god emperor in battle. Mr. Prettybuttercup, official bodyguard to the god emperor, was only disappointed that there were no lemon-flavoured Bears. He was not looking forward to stealing the lemon away from Achy Breaky Heart, but of course he must. The problem was A.B.H rarely had it out of sight. How much longer he could keep up the pretence at loyalty, Prettybuttercup didn’t know. Cowpoke Pete, official advisor to the god emperor, kept giving him suspicious looks, perhaps noticing how he eyed the lemon. Also, to make things even more urgent, and so exciting, a text message from Squirrel Foo had just arrived, saying “Hurry up. We need the lemon soon”. Yes, indeed, things were speeding along towards a climax. In fact, the Queen’s Castle should have arrived at New America by now. Let’s go see what Donny’s up to....

Chapter Fifteen: This Here Town Aint Big Enough For The Both of Us

The Queen’s castle rumbled to a halt at the border of New America. Beyond, Donny could see the Last All-American Town, with the American flag flying from every window. Above the buildings towered the plateau on which stood the Last McDonald’s on Earth, source of food for the town, and hopefully for the Queen’s castle as well. The Red, White and Blue Cable Car was also visible, offering transportation to the top of the plateau.

“Nice place” offered Tom, and Donny nodded appreciatively. The Apathetic Weasel simply shrugged listlessly, while Sir Sneeralot sneered.

“Bloody upstarts” he said, “they can’t even use the Queen’s English correctly- look at these road signs. The letter “U”, most noble of vowels, has been removed from words formally graced with its pointless presence”.

Before Donny could mourn the loss of the noble U, a blast of music to the tune of “The Star-Spangled Banner” signalled the appearance of the welcoming committee. Ambassador Hank the Yank stepped out of a nearby building, waved to the castle’s inhabitants, got into his car (“If they dare try to call it an automobile...” muttered Sneeralot, angrily) and drove over to them. He parked beside the castle, climbed out of the car, unrolled the red carpet, and waited for the Queen to alight.

Her Majesty stepped, well, majestically, from the drawbridge and appraised her surroundings. Hank looked somewhat uneasy.

“Well, howdy there, Mrs. Queen” he said, in an uncertain drawl, “welcome to this here godfearin’ town”. He scratched the back of his head uncomfortably.

The Queen squinted at him. “One wishes to be shown to the diplomatic suite at once” she said, haughtily.
“Ah, well, Ma’am, that represents a bit of a problem....”

The Queen stiffened. “Problem?”

Hank shifted his body weight from foot to foot. “The sheriff was thinking it best to send y’all away, but with the Ind’yun attacks of late and the dangers posed by the Rattlesnake Bandits, we simply can’t do that”.

“Send us away, man?” bellowed Sneeralot, “look here, Her Majesty has arrived to negotiate for food supplies. You’re supposed to put up token resistance and then agree with whatever we say. That’s how diplomacy works. Why in the name of the Radish would you send us away?”

Hank stiffened, annoyed at Sneeralot’s tone. “I’m afraid another negotiating party has beaten you to it” he said, “and we can only afford to give food to two nations; the Penguins being one and this newly-arrived group the other. They’ve already offered the American people the chance to participate in the creation of the greatest home movie ever. Nothing could be more in keeping with the American Way than home movies!” he finished, considerably brighter.

“Now look here, man” said Sneeralot, “we’re British, I’ll have you know! Who dares think they can upstage us?”

“I” said the Apathetic Weasel, in a half-hearted stage whisper to Donny, “have a feeling that this other group may well be from the Land of Evil. How about that?”

Donny groaned. “They still want to capture me and prevent me from undermining their evil schemes” he conveniently summarized (I might set a test soon...).

Sneeralot and the Queen were still arguing with Hank and getting no-where, so Donny spoke up: “can’t you at least hear both side’s offers before you choose?” he asked.

“Hey, that’s a good idea!” said Hank brightly. He quickly called up the sheriff on his mobile. After a few minutes of talking, he pocketed the phone and turned back to the heroes. “I have good news, Your Majesty. The sheriff has decided to uphold our democratic traditions by staging a debate between your party and the others. If you’ll all just follow me to the Slightly-off-colour-beige House, the future of my nation can be decided by a group of drunken locals in a bout of cheap entertainment”.

Donny and his friends started to follow, but the Queen and Sneeralot hung back. “Now what?” asked Donny, who was quite exasperated already. The Queen shifted uneasily.

“No, wait, let me guess” said Tom, “due to some up-until-now-unmentioned problem, you responsible adults are sadly unable to do anything productive at this point, leaving us children to do all the work”.

“That’s more or less right” said Sneeralot, “I commend you for your insight”.

“One gets so nervous speaking in front of crowds” said the Queen, sadly. “Waving is okay” she added, “One could wave to crowds all day if One wished. But speaking...oh no. You will have to do it for One. One grants you royal approval”.

Donny sighed, but knowing he had little choice (again) he nodded and accepted his task.

“The opponents are now approaching” said Hank, “and they’re led by none other than our illustrious former president, Richard Nixon!”

“I keep telling you” moaned a voice, “I’m not that Richard Nixon. It’s a coincidence”.

Donny’s face fell in dismay. For it was indeed the Villainous Order of 13 attempting to buy the service of the Americans. Nixon stood wearing a suit and a totally out-of-place Texan cowboy hat, a confused expression on his face. Baron von Wonky-Bonky stood beside him, smirking annoyingly and wearing one of Mrs. Glastonberry’s cooking aprons, transformed into a poncho. It was clear to Donny that the cucumber was in command, given his sharp-eyed gaze and ceremonial walking cane. Completing the trio was General Purple, who looked dazzling attired in a mauve shirt with frilly lace and blue sequins. It was actually his dress uniform, but he had augmented it in order to be more stylish. He was also combing his hair.

“Ah, Donny Tulip” said Baron von Wonky-Bonky, “it’s a good thing you are under the protection of both the Queen’s castle and the sheriff. If you weren’t, then I would be forced to abduct you and try to brainwash you into turning evil”.

Refusing to be intimidated, Donny faced his enemies bravely. “That would have been a mistake, baron. For I have grown in strength and skill since I last encountered members of your order. I have walked The Road, faced in battle both the dreaded Old Folk and the Proper Gander, servant of the dark tyrant the Falcon. I have the blessings of both the Holy Orange Radish of Quum and the Spirit of the Dodo. I wield the small wet dishcloth of Offense. I....”

“You talk too much” said Wonky-Bonky. “I’ll think you’ll find lengthy dialogue will not go down well with the Townsfolk here. Their attention spans are too small.”

Indeed, as he was speaking, the waiting crowd had gotten bored and began throwing nachos at one another, requiring the sheriff to walk among them shooting randomly with a TASER. Wonky-Bonky nodded, observing this.

“As sure as the Massive Menacing Metal Machine is massive, menacing and made of metal, I shall win this silly debate. Prepare to feel a mixture of shame, self-doubt, anger and disappointment!” With that, he strolled into the Slightly-off-colour-beige House to take his seat. Steeling himself, Donny entered too, Tom and the Apathetic Weasel at his side.

 

[Deranged Nasat]

Re: My old story has returned, so I'll share it. Warning- really, weir

Chapter Sixteen: A lot of odd arguments and an enraged psychotic cactus

The inhabitants of New America and surrounding locales had gathered for the debate (evidently very rapidly, but word presumably travels fast), and Donny began sizing them up. Buffalo Bill was sitting in the front row, chewing on a massive hotdog and wearing an oversized foam hat. Behind him, Chief Psychologically Unstable Steed, representing the natives, was wearing full battle gear including war paint and feathered headpiece. Fresh from the Battle of the Medium-sized Smallhorn, he looked quite worn out. His fellow tribesmen, Red Arrow and Dances With Dingbats, were watching him hopefully, in case he died of heat stroke and gave them a chance to take over. A Southern plantation owner and his wife, both incredibly fat, sat comfortably atop a litter supported by dozens of Negro slaves. Steven Spielberg and George Lucas sat near the back, pretending to film the debate through their squared fingers. Truly was this crowd representative of the American people.

Coming to a conclusion about the gathered townsfolk, Donny decided a sensible and rational argument, carefully constructed, would serve him best here. He was wrong.

As he took his seat, the sheriff strolled forward. He had only one eye, the other concealed by a patch. He had lost the left eye in a three-way shoot-out with Cowpoke Pete and the Psychotic Cactus, many a year ago. “I’m telling you the rules” he said. “This town don’t need no cheats. Your own, original arguments only”.

“Understood, sheriff” said all the participants. Donny and his two friends faced their three rivals, and then the sheriff fired his pistol, announcing the debate open.

Baron von Wonky-Bonky stood immediately. “People of New America, hear me now” he said “We were sent here to negotiate with you...by Jesus!” The fat Southerners gasped in holy awe. “Yes!” said Wonky-Bonky, “that’s right! Our participation in this debate is directly endorsed by our Lord. Those with faith should immediately make up their minds to vote for me. Hallelujah!”

Donny raised his hand. “I’d like to refute that point....” he began.

“You can’t refute the awesome power of blind faith, nor the word “Hallelujah!” when accompanied by an ecstatic arm movement” said von Wonky-Bonky, making the movement. “I too once supported the royal family, but then I saw the light! Praise the Lord! Hallelujah!”

“Hallelujah!” cried the crowd happily.

Donny felt his confidence draining. “Will the Spirit of the Dodo be of any use here?” Tom asked. Donny thought not, so he tried a counterargument. “But people!” he cried, “Faith must surely be used in conjunction with rationality, not in place of it. The two need not be enemies! Reason and faith must surely work together, particularly when faced with such a momentous decision. Oh come on, you native Americans in the back. You can’t tell me your ancient and honoured religious beliefs allow for this?”

“Too fatigued to stand up for tribal nation” gasped Psychologically Unstable Steed, “instead must conserve strength”. Red Arrow and Dances with Dingbats tried to look solemn, and not excited.

“I sense a great disturbance in the force” said George Lucas, “I fear the Queen’s representatives might be non-believers. Shun the non-believers! Shun! Shun!”

Before anyone else could make a point of doing so, General Purple interrupted with the next argument; “Isn’t my mauve shirt with attached blue sequins simply stunning?” It was obvious the villains were winning the debate; Donny had no answer to that. General Purple’s dress uniform was simply stunning, right down to its blue suede shoes. Tom, too, was blown away by its style and aesthetic appeal.

Fortunately, the Apathetic Weasel just couldn’t bring himself to care. “I don’t care” he said, “In fact, when we really get right down to it, if we were inclined to do so, does any of this really matter? I stopped following this debate soon after it began. Do we really even care?”

“I’d, er, like to refute that point” said Nixon. “Caring is good for the people. Only if you have been in the deepest valley, can you ever know how magnificent it is to be on the highest mountain. Remember, always give your best. Never get discouraged. Never be petty. Always remember, others may hate you. But those who hate you don't win unless you hate them. And then you destroy yourself. A man is not finished when he is defeated. He is finished when he quits”. Many in the audience made appreciative noises at that, and several began nodding in apparent agreement.

“But that sentence made no sense to the argument!” cried Donny, who was getting quite annoyed by now and making quite a spectacle of himself, truth be told, “it was just a mix of prominent Nixon quotes thrown together without any consideration of context!”

He and Nixon glared angrily at one another.

“I’d like to use this break in the conversation to point out to the audience my stylish mink-fur shorts and attached bows” said General Purple smoothly.

“Minks are close cousins of mine” said the Apathetic Weasel, blandly, “you have murdered my kin and turned their skins into clothing”. He shifted slightly in his seat, before resuming staring blankly at the wall.

“General, that doesn’t even make sense as an argument” said Donny, “and besides, my patron, the Queen...”

Now it was Baron von Wonky-Bonky’s turn to interrupt. “The Queen’s a red!” he cried, loudly, pointing at Donny. However, for the first time the crowd didn’t seem to understand.

“Red Indian?” asked Psychologically Unstable Steed, confused.

“No, she’s a commie!” said the Baron.

“Are those the small green dinosaurs?” asked Spielberg.

“No, those are compies, Steven. Commies are the bad guys”

The crowd stared blankly at von Wonky-Bonky. “The cold war, people?” he asked, angrily.

“Against Humphrey!” added Nixon, and Wonky-Bonky threw his head into his hands.

Donny, sensing an opportunity to turn the tables, tried to restore to the debate a sense of propriety. “Is it not apparent, people, that my opponents here are in clear violation of all logical or rational standards of reasoning, and furthermore...”

“Hallelujah!” cried Wonky-Bonky, interrupting, and all the townsfolk repeated the cry, waving their hands in the air happily. Donny slumped down into his seat again. It was hopeless; all seemed lost. Swayed by Baron von Wonky-Bonky’s suspicious religious fervour, Richard Nixon’s coincidentally famous name, voice and face, and General Purple’s highly stylish baseball cap with matching green socks, the Americans were clearly in favour of the opposition.

“Oh, I give up” said Donny, resigning himself to the fact that this time, he had failed.

However, fate, it appeared, was on his side. At that very moment, a scream tore through the room as a terrified deputy ran in, sweat pouring down his face.

“Sheriff! Bar the doors, now!” he cried. The sheriff turned to do so, demanding “what’s wrong?”

“It’s the Psychotic Cactus!” replied the deputy, “It’s on a rampage with an axe!”

Pale faced, the sheriff hastened to finish barring the door. And not a moment too soon, for only a few seconds later everyone screamed as an axe smashed through the wood. It fell again, and again, until a wide and jagged hole had been made in the door. The face of a big, green, spiky plant with a wild expression appeared through the hole. “Herrrrrrrreeeesss Cactus!” he cried, eyes wide and bloodthirsty. He swung the axe again, hoping to smash though entirely.

“He’s totally flipped out this time, Sheriff!” said the deputy “I knew the new stamp tax was a bad idea; it’s finally pushed him over the edge!”

The sheriff, unable to shoot accurately due to his one eye, looked around desperately for backup. “Psychologically Unstable Steed! Shoot your arrows at him, quick!”

The native stood up, gave a warbling war-cry, before striding forward, bow in arm. Unfortunately, he was so exhausted he wasn’t paying attention properly. He tripped over George Lucas’ sound equipment, and sprawled over the ground, moaning and cursing.

“The chief has fallen!” cried Red Arrow, “I am chief now!”

“You bastard!” said Dances With Dingbats, “he promised the job to me!”

The two began fighting, pummelling one another with spare nachos. Clearly another solution was required.

“Purple!” cried Wonky-Bonky, “you’re our military strategist. Do something strategic!”

General Purple gulped, but then steeled himself, standing tall and proud. He fiddled with his hat briefly, to get it just so, before unleashing the full breadth and depth of his combat expertise. “Subordinates, attack!” he cried, pointing at the door. But he had forgotten to bring subordinates.

“There’s nothing we can do!” cried the sheriff. Indeed, at that point the Cactus lurched into the room, cackling madly and swinging its axe. Everyone screamed again but then, just as it seemed the end was upon them, there was a THUD. Peeking nervously through their hands, everyone was astonished to see the Cactus lying face-down and unconscious on the floor. Beside him, having been used as a deadly projectile, was the Queen’s slipper. The Queen herself stood in the doorway, looking satisfied. There was stunned silence for a moment, and then it was broken by a cheer.

“Her Majesty the Queen has saved us from the Psychotic Cactus!” cried Hank the Yank, in case you didn’t quite grasp the consequences of the previous few lines.

“One simply cannot stand it when people get above their station in life” said the Queen trimly, “Many an upstart lowerclassman has felt the wrath of One’s slipper over the years.”

.........................................

And so it came to pass that the Queen’s castle was loaded with burgers by grateful Americans, and Donny and company left in the castle triumphant, leaving the three villains defeated and shaking their fists.

“Damn you, Donny Tulip!” said Baron von Wonky-Bonky, “now our plans to make the most impressive home movie ever are in serious jeopardy”.

Donny wasn’t listening however; the only person who overheard was the Apathetic Weasel, and he was experiencing an acute lack of motivation to care. It simply wasn’t in him. I deride his caring capabilities. And so the Queen’s castle turned East and drove off happily, headed for the Penguin Mob Speakeasy.

“That went okay in the end” said Tom, “despite the weirdness of the Americans”.

“The problem with foreigners” said Sneeralot conclusively, “is that they’re foreign”. And this logic, at least, could not be argued with.

(P.S. This chapter contains a LESSON and a MORAL. It is making the point that sometimes, heroes don’t save the day. There are times when there is nothing the hero can do, and supporting characters must carry the day instead. A debate between good and evil before an audience of restless small-town American stereotypes is one of those times. I won’t do it too often. Don’t go away believing Donny’s worthless or boring now. He just needed to be brought down a peg; he was getting quite cocky wasn’t he? Don’t worry, he’s still the hero. We’ll get to the Speakeasy soon. He can redeem himself there).

 

[Deranged Nasat]

Re: My old story has returned, so I'll share it. Warning- really, weir

Chapter Seventeen: The aliens have landed

But first, a political broadcast: “Ladies and gentleman! This is Proper Gander! The regime of the Falcon offers nought but justice and solidarity; it is source of all light and goodness. For all are equal before the Falcon. None shall be left outside; all shall be brought into his warm, loving belly, er, I mean bosom. I beg of you, sinners all, to look inside your soul and reflect on what you see. Do you see love? Or truth? Or ketchup? There is a way. The one source of meaning in your life; service to the Falcon, beloved master of us all. Ascend upon wings of flame to...(Do not listen to Proper Gander! This is the true story: It began with the forging of the great wings. Three were given to the Flamingos, fairest and wisest of all birds. Seven to the Penguins, infamous mobsters of the icy Southern realms. And nine....nine wings were given to the waterfowl, who above all else desire power...But they were all of them deceived. For another wing was made, in the land of Caw-dor, in the fires of Mount Talon, the dark god Falcon forged in secret a master wing to control all others. And into this wing he poured his cruelty, his malice, and his will to consume all other birds. One wing to rule them all!)...the next life, where you shall be free from want, free from pain, free from the guilt and doubt that defines this mortal coil, and once you reach......” And now the chapter proper:

“Supreme Evil Galactic Overlord Cuebert! We have achieved orbit over Earth”.

“Excellent!” said Cuebert excitedly, from where he perched on his silver throne. The Aliens From Up Above attack fleet had finally arrived, and it appeared from sensor scans of the City that Teppup had left instructions. A letter was swiftly detected and beamed aboard. It read: ‘my dear Cuebert, thank you for coming to my aid. Await the three-way flare signal from Hell, Jurassic park and Hollywood, then descend to assist me. Yours, Teppup”.

Cuebert considered this. “So, I suppose we wait for the signal” he said. “Until then, let’s get on with standard procedures”. He turned to an AFUA. “Beam up next test subject”. The alien technology whirred to life, before depositing a large animal on the transporter pad. It was a flying green cow, who looked around worriedly.

“Oh no!” she cried, “like so many cows before me, I’ve been abducted by aliens!”

.................................................................................

Meanwhile, the ship was playing host to other outsiders; Professor Emu and his six allies. They had managed to board an orbiting enemy spaceship undetected due to a daring and audacious plan, involving highly advanced technology taken from both Emu’s laboratory and Papa D’Plu’s warehouses. Details are unnecessary. At that moment, they had finished taking photos and were heading back to their rocket in the Spare Cargo Bay. They were doing so slowly and carefully, lest Madame Pomm should break a nail, or le Artiste should miss a masterpiece hung randomly on a wall.

“Come on, guys” said Emu, “hurry up. We’ve gathered our evidence; let’s go before we trigger some sort of alarm...”

“ALERT! ALERT! INTRUDERS DETECTED IN GRID 43!” cried the computer through an array of wall-mounted speakers.

“Curse the inevitable alarm!” cried Emu, “run, everybody!”

On the bridge, Cuebert was reading a comic when the security system activated.

“INTRUDERS ARE HEADED FOR SPARE CARGO BAY!” it warned.
“What?! Intruders!? Guards, get down there!”
“INTRUDERS HAVE TURNED LEFT AT JUNCTION 14”
“Head for Junction 14!”
“INTRUDERS HAVE TURNED RIGHT AT JUNCTION 19”
“To 19! To 19!”
“INTRUDERS HAVE GONE THE WRONG WAY AND ARE DOUBLING BACK, CURSING LOUDLY”.
“Where are my guards?!”
“INTRUDERS ARE ARGUING IN CORRIDOR 56”
“Security guards on their way now, sir”.
“INTRUDERS ARE FLIPPING COINS TO DETERMINE NEXT ROUTE”
“All guards intercept intruders now”.
“INTRUDERS ARE CRAWLING INTO VENTILATION DUCTS”.
“Seal the ventilation ducts!”
“INTRUDERS ARE EXITING VENTILATION DUCTS OUTSIDE SPARE CARGO BAY”
“Abort! Abort!”
“INTRUDERS HAVE MISSED THE DOOR SIGN OF SPARE CARGO BAY AND GONE OFF IN THE WRONG DIRECTION AGAIN”
“Yes, yes!, guards, quickly!”
“INTRUDERS HAVE FINALLY SPOTTED DOOR SIGN AND RAN INTO SPARE CARGO BAY”

Cuebert cursed, but then, as he received a report from his security computers on that deck, he smiled.

“I’m heading down to spare cargo bay” he told the bridge crew, happily.
“INTRUDERS ARE FROZEN, STARING IN ASTONISHMENT”.

............................................

They were staring in astonishment at the spot where they’d parked the ship, because it was no longer there. As they stood, mouths open, Cuebert and a group of elite AFUA soldiers ran into the room behind them, weapons drawn. “Bother” said Emu.

“Fools!” cried Cuebert “parking your primitive rocket in the Spare Cargo Bay, you reckoned without the Neurotic Cleaning Robot!”

He pointed dramatically to a humanoid machine squatted nearby, scrubbing the floor with a scouring pad and muttering.

“What has it done with our rocket?” asked the Butcher, angrily.

“Said vessel has been tidied away in the interests of cleanliness” said the Robot mechanically, pointing to a far corner. Parts and pieces of the disassembled rocket had been stacked neatly in a pile.

“There is now no escape!” said Cuebert, menacingly. He gave the evil laugh; “Tee hee hee hee hee hee hee hee! Surrender or be destroyed!”

But Emu had another idea. Standing in another corner of the room was the green cow, who had been stored here as there was no room in the Main Cargo Bay. The cow was staring nervously at the Butcher, for obvious reasons, and this made Emu remember the plot point about his service during the burger wars many years before. “Allies” he cried, “attack!” With a cry of anger, he leapt at the guards, knocking several to the ground.

Chaos reigned. The Butcher swung his meat cleaver, inflicting serious damage on another set of guards. The Baker swung a baguette like a broadsword, and knocked an alien to the ground. The Candlestick Maker was too boring to be noticed. Le Artiste sneered derisively at the remaining guards, who felt ashamed of their artistic ignorance and slunk off. Cuebert was not so easily defeated, however. He punched D’Plu and Emu, crying, “I’ve got you now, you bastard!” However, as he finished the sentence he found himself face to face with Madame Pomm. “How dare you utter such profanity in the presence of a lady?!” she snarled. Swinging her handbag, she knocked him stone cold.

When he came round, the guards had recovered and started in pursuit of the fleeing good guys. Blood was everywhere, and faced with such mess the Neurotic Cleaning Robot had retreated into the corner, gibbering to itself manically. Emu and his band, for their part, were currently running down a service corridor, the cow now with them. They had a distinct advantage over the pursuing guards, for everyone had slippery shoes due to the copious amounts of blood on the floor, but the Baker had brought some flour with him, and this provided them with grip. As they ran, the allies chatted pointlessly, as you do in such situations.

“That language was just not proper” said Madame Pomm, “I shan’t ever be inviting him to Pomm Hall, I can assure you”.

“What are you doing here, cow?” asked the Butcher, attempting to make casual conversation- it was always embarrassing for him meeting farm animals. The cow, understanding this, explained the situation.

“The Aliens From Up Above have been abducting cows for many years” she said, “they hope to discover the truth behind our ability to fly without technology. The string of abductions began one night a few years ago, when a cow jumped over the moon. We were hoping to branch out into spaceflight, offering new flight destinations to passengers and bringing in more profit for Bovine Airlines. Unfortunately, our test flight was observed by the Cat, who began playing the fiddle in celebration, and by the Little Dog, who laughed to see such fun. The racket attracted the attention of a passing AFUA vessel, and upon its landing, the Little Dog sold us out, allowing for the abduction of the test cow. The Little Dog now works for the Aliens as a spy”.

Her face turned deadly serious. “You must be wary. If you should meet a small giggling canine, be afraid. Be very afraid. For his laugh is a cruel and sadistic one, and his concept of what constitutes “fun” is chilling. Take a leaf out of the Dish’s book. As soon as he heard the laugh that fateful night, he took the Spoon and ran.”

“We don’t plan to encounter any dogs” said Emu. “We’re actually assisting Donny Tulip, the prophesized one”.

“Donny Tulip?” the cow asked, “why, I flew him into Goox-boox just the other day!”

“Well great” said Emu, “you can join us on our mission.”

“Stop!” cried D’Plu suddenly.

“What’s that, an airlock?” asked the Candlestick Maker.

“Manufactured by Shoddy Merchandise INC, a subsidiary of D’Plu Enterprises Conglomerate” confirmed D’Plu “using my extensive knowledge of my products, I can override its controls and let us float to freedom”.

“How can we survive in the vacuum of space?” demanded the Butcher, but D’Plu had an answer.

“As the ship enters the atmosphere, we will be protected and can ride the cow down to safety”.

“Why would the ship be entering the atmosphere now?” asked the Baker.

At that moment, however, a message came over the communications system. “We are entering Earth’s atmosphere!” cried the voice of a Nerd, “redeploying the foil! The chocolate hull will otherwise melt under the intense heat of entry.”

“Oh, come on” said the Butcher, irritated “that convenient coincidence just isn’t realistic”.

“This is not reality!” snarled le Artiste, “this is art!”

Everyone climbed aboard the cow’s back, and D’Plu blew the airlock. The allies were soon tumbling through the air on the cow, the heat of atmospheric re-entry starting to be felt. “Poetic justice?” wondered the Baker, but Emu knew they wouldn’t burn up. “Do not fear!” he advised, “Madame Pomm, deploy your petticoats!”

Madame Pomm’s petticoats caught the updraft, not only slowing their rate of descent but creating a cooling breeze as they flapped up and down.

Meanwhile, Cuebert had made it back to the bridge, and was seething over their escape.

“Cow detected!” called an AFUA at a console, “shall we dispatch a trans-chocolate torpedo to destroy them?”

“At once!” roared Cuebert.

“It might make quite a mess of the torpedo bay”

“I don’t care how messy the ship gets!” spat Cuebert “just fire the torpedo!”

“I’m afraid I can’t let you do that, Cuebert” said a mechanical voice from behind them. Cuebert whirled to see the Neurotic Cleaning Robot standing in the doorway, a mop held tightly in its hand.

“Get the robot off the bridge!” cried Cuebert, but the robot was not to be dissuaded from its task. It swung with its mop, knocking the first guard’s feet out from under him, before spinning gracefully and bopping the second on the head.

“Fire, quickly!” screamed Cuebert, but the robot, bleating “Destroy all grime! Destroy all grime!” was at the weapons console, determined to take the torpedoes off line before they could be used to make mess.

“It’s gone haywire, Overlord!” cried a Nerd, “the trauma of the messy battle in the Spare Cargo Bay must have overloaded its circuits!”

Cuebert lunged, wrestling with the robot for control of the weapons console, but too late; the cow and all its passengers were out of sight; escaped.

“NooooooOOOOOoooooOOOOOOOoooooOOOOOoooo!”cried Cuebert.

...........................................

As the cow levelled out into normal flight, Emu and company saw the whole world spread below them. All the sights were visible, from the Land of the Pretty Ponies to Marshmellow Mountain, from Mrs. Butteridge’s Bed and Breakfast to the Mile High Bunny. It was beautiful. Le Artiste snorted, however, for real life could not measure up to his art, and everyone was brought back to the reality of the moment. Emu cleared his throat. “With the Aliens From Up Above prepared to invade the Earth, and us having come down far from the city, getting our evidence to the people will take too long. We must instead journey to the Tower of Babel at once, to assist Donny when the final battle inevitably begins...” And so the cow flew off into the sunset, heading for its rendezvous with destiny.

 

[Deranged Nasat]

Re: My old story has returned, so I'll share it. Warning- really, weir

Chapter Eighteen: P...P...P...P...Punch up a Penguin

The sound of pleasant conversation and laughter filled the Penguin Mob Speakeasy. Satisfied customers sat around the well-stocked tables, drinking, joking with friends and generally having a great time. Attractive dancing girls performed on stage, throwing their legs in the air and waving their flippers. At a front table, Fat Pedro himself sat, a satisfied look on his penguin face. His boys had done well in supplying the speakeasy with copious amounts of hooch. Ever since the Penguin Imperium had outlawed alcohol consumption, the Penguin Mob had been spiriting booze from the nearby Vodka Bog, bribing General Shoveov’s men to look the other way. The Emperor Penguin, who ruled with an iron flipper, had yet to discover that his subjects had outwitted him. Hidden inside a hollowed-out monolith, safe from the Emperor Penguin’s elite Rockhopper commandos, the Penguin Mob Speakeasy was a home away from home for all those birds who knew the joys of alcohol. Fat Pedro enjoyed a sip of his drink, contemplating all the profit he was making. He noticed Little Penguin Paulie approaching, and leaned over to hear what the henchman had to say.

“Boss” Paulie whispered, “there’s a castle just parked outside, and Her Majesty the Queen is here to negotiate a piece of the pie”.

Pedro raised an eyebrow. Opportunity would appear to be knocking. “Send Her Majesty and her party in” he commanded.

Paulie left, and returned shortly afterward with our heroes. Donny Tulip was not actually old enough to visit a speakeasy, especially one run by gangsters, but the only adult actually responsible for him at present was the Apathetic Weasel, and he just didn’t care. Besides, Donny had been promised a knighthood if he could influence Fat Pedro into opening trade agreements with the British, and this was an opportunity he couldn’t afford to miss. In order to appease the moral guardians, however, neither he nor Tom will drink anything, although they will engage in a bloody battle in the next chapter.

Fat Pedro bowed to the newcomers. “Ah, Your Majesty, it is a pleasure to welcome you to my humble establishment”.

The Queen nodded. “Allow One to introduce One’s party. This is One’s loyal bodyguard, knight of the realm Sir Sneeralot, this is Donny Tulip, a child One has randomly acquired and now head of One’s negotiating team, and these are his friends, Tom and the Apathetic Weasel”.

“Charmed” said Pedro, “I am especially pleased to meet you, young Donny Tulip, and I expect to be able to negotiate a fair and honourable agreement with you. Let us not quarrel, your family and mine. Let us come to an understanding”.

“Well spoken, good penguin” said Donny, imitating what he expected Sneeralot would have said; he was still uneasy in his new role.

“Now what exactly is it you want from my organization?” asked Pedro. Donny desperately tried to remember, aware of the Queen’s glare upon him. “Eh, we want to negotiate a trade of British teacups in exchange for 40% of your food supplies, and we hope to sign a treaty of alliance with you”.

“We have Jimmy Snakeoil and the Council of Lawyers ready to finalize any agreement made here today” added Sneeralot.

Pedro did not look convinced. “And let you rob me blind? No, no, my dear friends, a lawyer with his briefcase can steal more than a hundred men with guns”.

“What about your own ambassador to the British, Puddleton Flippers?”

Pedro seemed dismissive “Oh, him; he sleeps with the fishes”.

“He’s dead?!” blurted Tom in alarm.

“Nah, kid” said Little Penguin Paulie, “he gets hungry during the night. He’s too fat and useless to help, is what I’m saying”.

“Look” said Donny, “I am willing to offer...”

But at that moment, there was a general commotion. With a puff of smoke, a figure had suddenly appeared on stage, startling the dancing girls into falling over one another’s feet and collapsing in a heap. Quickly, Fat Pedro’s boys pulled out their guns, but the figure on stage was making no hostile moves. Instead he radiated an aura of peace and enlightenment. But it was all an act, for Donny and friends recognized him right away.

“Oh no, it’s Proper Gander!” cried Tom.

“Ladies and gentlebirds” said the evil goose, “I am here today as an envoy”.

“From Lovey-dovey and the Pigeon Mafia?” demanded Pedro, fearing his arch-enemy’s hand in all this.

“No, not from a rival family have I come, dear birds, but from your one true Lord and master, the Falcon, bringer of light, father of all flying creatures, leader of the perfect social order. For this is Proper Gander, here to educate you in the true joys of service to His dream.”

“Don’t listen to him, everyone!” cried Donny, “Reject Proper Gander! Your true god is the Spirit of the Dodo, and as his earthly representative only I have your best interests at heart.”

The Queen glared, and Donny quickly amended, “oh, and my patron the Queen too”.

“Nonsense, my friends” said Proper Gander, shooting evils at Donny while making the holy sign of the Falcon, “You’re a human. Would the true god of all birds send a human to represent him? I am a bird like the penguins; I am the emissary of our feathered Lord”.

Fat Pedro and the other penguins looked as if they were beginning to fall under the goose’s spell, so Donny knew the time for negotiation was over. Grasping the Dodonut tightly, he opened his mind and summoned the Spirit, so to make an actual demonstration of his faith. A holy wind began gushing around him, blowing coasters from tables and hats from gentleman penguin’s heads.

“Avert!” cried Proper Gander, attempting to sprinkle his holy water over Donny, but it was too late.

“I AM THE SPIRIT OF THE DODO!” the possessed boy boomed, “PENGUINS! YOU ARE AMONGST THE WISEST OF BIRDS. LIKE ME, YOU HAVE WISELY FORGOTTEN HOW TO FLY AND REDUCED YOURSELVES FROM GRACEFUL FEATHERY CREATURES OF BEAUTY INTO FAT, COMICAL USELESS LUMPS. THIS IS A GOOD SIGN. BUT SUCCUMB TO PROPER GANDER AND YOU RISK LOSING IT ALL”.

“Lies!” cried Proper Gander, “all lies!!!” But the Penguins looked considerably shaken, and it now appeared Donny was winning.

“NONE CAN INTERRUPT THE MONOLOGUING OF THE SPIRIT OF THE DODO!” scolded the Spirit, “NOOOOOONNNNEEE!” It waved Donny’s arms wildly. “AND FURTHERMORE....”

At that moment, however, there was an even greater commotion. With an almighty crash, a large building broke through a wall, causing customers to flee in terror, screaming.

“Oh what now”? moaned Sneeralot, testily.

“We’re under attack, boss!” cried Little Penguin Paulie. And indeed they were, for at that moment floods of Gummi Bears poured from the building, throwing Sugar Bombs and whooping wildly.

“It’s a raid!” cried Pedro, “stop them, boys!”

The penguin henchmen ran to attack the Gummi Bears, but they reckoned without Mr. Prettybuttercup, who strolled into the fray and pummelled penguins left, right and centre.

“Mr. Prettybuttercup!” cried Tom.

Prettybuttercup looked up in shock. “Donny Tulip!” he cried, pointing at the hero.

“What’s that?” cried Achy Breaky Heart, peering round the door to observe how his attack was progressing.

“My old rival, Achy Breaky Heart!”cried Fat Pedro in shock.

In fact, everybody was so surprised to see everyone else that the action ground to a halt, everyone standing around confused and scratching their heads. Order had been momentarily restored.

“...AND FURTHERMORE” continued the Spirit testily, “ALL BIRDS REQUIRE MY WORD, AND MY WORD ALONE...”.

“This is why the Falcon sent me!” insisted Proper Gander loudly, “I had to prepare you penguins for your holy war against the invading Gummi Bears!”

“Bloody foreigners!” moaned Sneeralot, “this is a private negotiation, I’ll have you know. I’m jolly well considering using a four-letter word at this point”.

“Why are you helping Achy Breaky Heart, Mr. Prettybuttercup?” asked Tom suspiciously, “what is the Villainous Order of 13 up to now?”

“Why is Donny Tulip posing as the bird messiah?” shot back Prettybuttercup, pointing at Donny, who was still booming godly slogans at any penguins who would listen.

“Prettybuttercup is my loyal bodyguard helping me achieve revenge on Fat Pedro!” cried Achy Breaky Heart, answering Tom’s question.

“Actually” said the Snitch, “he’s only pretending to help you in order to try and steal the lemon from you and...oh no!” he threw his hands over his mouth, but it was too late.

“SNITCH!!!!” roared Prettybuttercup in fury, while, “What?!!?” screamed Achy Breaky Heart.

Cowpoke Pete stepped forward. “Alright, that’s it, you’re dead” he growled to Prettybuttercup. Before he could strike, however, Fat Pedro cried, “quick! That lemon’s important! Get the lemon!” A penguin darted forward and grabbed it, flipping it to Pedro.

“Nooooo!” howled both Achy Breaky Heart and Prettybuttercup.

“Gummi Bears, resume attack!” cried Cowpoke Pete, but at that moment the Apathetic Weasel reached down and snatched the lemon from Fat Pedro.

“Now I just don’t care who gets the lemon” he said, “but if anyone makes any move against Donny, Tom or I, I might just eat said lemon, regardless of how important a plot point it represents. That is how little I’m motivated to preserve the author’s lovingly planned story”.

Both Achy Breaky Heart and Prettybuttercup signalled their supporters to stop again.

“I’m here to help you penguins grab the lemon from your enemies, to win this holy war!” cried Proper Gander.

“YOU SHALL NOT SUCCEED!” boomed the Spirit.

“Your Majesty” said Pedro to the Queen, “if you wish to become our trade partners, I demand you help us defend the speakeasy.”

“This is so confusing!” said Tom, “could it possibly get any more crowded in here?”

At that moment, the Musical Iceberg and the F**k You came through another wall, having been locked in battle during their approach to the dock. Whippy-man leapt gracefully into the centre of the room, followed by Penguin Lord Hubblebottom. The latter waved to his nephew, Fat Pedro, who said, “excellent! Reinforcements!”

Prettybuttercup thought the same thing upon seeing Captain Unpleasant stagger drunkenly into the room. “Captain Unpleasant! Quick, help us grab the lemon! The plan depends upon it!”

And so, the characters prepared for battle. On one side of the room stood the members of the Penguin Mob, shaking their flippers and pointing mini machine guns. Fat Pedro stood behind them, directing their attack. Whippy-man and Penguin Lord Hubblebottom stood with him. The Queen and Sir Sneeralot had retrieved the Puff Pastries from the castle, and also stood ready to fight for Pedro. All of these people were fighting to defend the speakeasy from attack. On a second side of the room stood Prettybuttercup, ??? and a very guilty looking Snitch, whose secret was now exposed and who were fighting to retrieve the lemon at any cost. On a third stood the army of Gummi Bears, Achy Breaky Heart and the Synonymous Syndicate, and Cowpoke Pete. They had the largest force, but the disadvantage of having two goals to achieve; the destruction of the penguins, and recapture of the lemon. On the fourth side stood Tom and the Apathetic Weasel, holding the lemon and hiding behind Donny, who, channelling the Spirit of the Dodo, would smite anyone who attempted to steal the lemon, for this would mean they had succumbed to Proper Gander. Proper Gander himself stood on a table in the centre of the room, sermonizing and hoping to brainwash any penguin that might be listening. Captain Unpleasant was drinking as much as possible and drunkenly pursuing the dancing girls on stage. Who do you think will win or succeed in achieving their goals? Taking bets now....