All chocolate must go through Pete's secretary, which would be ME!
All chocolate must go through Pete's secretary, which would be ME!
I would call you more Pete's food tester than secretary - but either way... PETE, CC's eating all your chocolate!
“Hello, who is it?” mumbles Evil Dr. Greg.
“Open the *%##$@@$*^^%)(*+!@##$ door, or I’m gonna be really pissed”, comes the soft and gentle reply from Evil Brother Sam. Mad Moderator Hien rushes to the door in a vain attempt to assuage the searing pain of his adored Masters. Flinging the really Super door open with all his might, the Mad Moderator peeks outside to find….nothing. No Master. Where could he have gone? Suddenly……….a blinding flash of realization comes over the devoted assistant…….CRAP……the door opens outward!!!!!! Slowly peering around the door, the Mad Moderator sees that his devoted, height challenged Master has been crushed against the rock hard outer wall just to the right of the waterfall. Summoning all his strength and fortitude, Sam Evil begins, ever so softly, to speak: “Move the door…..move the door now or die…” Quickly anticipating his Masters’ request, the Mad Moderator pulls the really heavy Super door away from the wall and asks “Master! Over. Oh my God, Master. Over. Are you all right? Over.” Mad Mod Hien gently picks up his Master, who has slid down the rock hard wall face in a small, bloodied heap, and carries him into the cavernous, yet tastefully decorated Secret Evil Lair. No sooner does the pair cross the threshold, when Sam leaps from Mad Mod Hiens’ grasp, scurries across the floor, and latches onto Brother Pete’s leg, furiously biting and gnawing at his siblings’ right ankle. Pete allows his wounded brother to snarl a few minutes longer, then picks him up by the scruff of the neck and holds him up to his face. “Brother Sam, don’t you see what has happened? We’re separate!!!!!! We don’t have to use the toilet at the same time, we don’t have to date twins anymore, we don’t have to share the same oddly sized sweaters……….We’re FREEEEEE!!!!!!” Sam, wiping the froth from his nose and mouth, begins to realize that his big brother is right. “Ha, big Brother, I’m beginning to realize that you’re right!! Mmwwuuuhahahahahahaha….this is just the beginning!!!! Now, we must finish our completely evil plans to steal all the Guinness in the world!! Right after we bandage ourselves. Oh, and I’m going to kill our Mad Moderator.” “Not so fast little brother, we need him for future moderating. Besides, LOOK, WE’RE SEPARTED!!! Now, Evil Dr. Greg, what’s the countdown? Have we got time for a snack?”
“Ninety nine thousand nine hundred ninety-one………………”
Meanwhile, and not so suddenly, on the other side of the volcano, Precious is still rolling around in little circles, trying to be the only one truly panicking. Phil, slightly red-faced, picks up his Precious and slips her into his cargo shorts. Er, um, into the POCKET of his cargo shorts. Yeah, that’s it, pocket. Mr. Isa is foraging through the Mrs. Isa’s Louis Vuitton satchel, and upon finding his quarry, exclaims, “AhhHa, I’ve found my quarry! The remote control for the Martini Blimp. Now to just pop in the right code…6-2-7-8-4-6-4…and VOILA.”(Check your phones and figure out the secret code!!!) Demonstrating remarkable agility for a peculiarly large dirigible, the Martini Blimp appears seemingly out of nowhere, having flown just over 500 yards (3300 nautical miles) from the top of the volcano in mere seconds. The blimp’s automated boarding ramp deploys, and Mrs. Isa announces, “OK Gang, martini’s on the promenade!!” Set ‘em up Schnookems, we’ve got a long flight ahead of us.” The fearless gang of weary travelers slowly files onto the ramp and over to the promenade deck. All, of course, except Super Agent MattXIII of MI6. “No, no, you guys get started without me. I have to get on board the Secret Agent way. Would someone be so kind as to lower a rope over the edge? I’ll just grab onto that as you lift off. Thanks, then…”
Settling into the many elegantly overstuffed sofas, the weary travelers breathe a collective sigh of relief. Mr. Isa proffers a large tray of freshly mixed martinis and passes them out to the gang. Mrs. Isa: "OK, I'll set a course for Majestic Mount Isa. Judging by the declination of the sun, and allowing for the trade winds.....we should be there in about three months....no, wait, three days. Sorry, these are tricky calculations." Eve: "Well, this has certainly been an action-packed vacation!!" Nikki: "WAIT!!!! What about the RCS Sinky Boat Thingy? Shouldn't we do something? They're probably out of Guinness two-for-ones by now!!" Phil: "Feck 'em." Gelli: "Are there any sheep on Mount Isa to keep Dolly company?" RO Brenda(n): "Do you need a Radar Officer on Majestic Mount Isa?" WO Daveh: "Have you got any rags? I need to clean my 50 caliber machine cannon?" Wocca Beast: "No really, does anyone know how to get durian juice out of cotton chenille?" The llama who is not named Tina: "Bleat."
Mr. Isa, currently mixing the next round, proclaims "Indeed, we must do something for the RCS Sinky Boat Thingy. Honey pot, can you set us a course for the other side of the island?" Mrs. Isa: "But of course my sweet, I can set us a course! Just as soon as I finish these preparing these delightful canapes for our guests. Now everyone, just sit back, relax, and enjoy the view. After we help the Canukistanis, we'll be heading for Stately Isa Manor, where we can all enjoy a sumptuous feast and some well deserved hot showers. Particularly you, Mr. Wocca Beast. Is Super Agent MattXIII of MI6 on board yet? I do so worry about his shenanigans." Several minutes (three British days) later, the speedy blimp is hovering over the RCS Sinky Boat Thingy, which, now unmanned, is still stuck in the sand, atop Smithers, who still has yet to be fetched a pint. Mrs. Isa: "I say, Matt, if you're still dangling out the window, do you think you could hook the end of your line to the sub so we can pull her back to deep water? I'll radio Captain Cupcake and let her know that salvation is at hand." Alas, the sub is unoccupied, and there is no answer on the radio. So, the old fashioned approach seems to be in order. Mrs. Isa: "HEY!!! YOU PEOPLE ON THE BEACH. HAS ANYONE SEEN THE CAPTAIN?" The only reply is from Smithers: "Fetch me a pint and I'll tell you!" "Filthy blighter," exclaims Phil. The only recourse for finding the hopelessly-enjoying-themselves crew appears to be to set the whole place alight. WO Daveh, eager for action, fires a torrent of napalm bullets into the Pub and Grill. "That should do the trick," he muses. The really happy crew emerges from the ashes of the Pub and Grill in a state of bemusement. "Alright Mates, time to set sail" orders Captain Cupcake. The entire crew staggers toward the ship with several dazed Pub customers in tow. Super Agent MattXIII of MI6: "Grab the line Captain CC and tie it off. We'll tow you out to sea." Fourteen hours (12 nautical miles) later, the arduous task is complete....the RCS Sinky Boat Thingy is underway, having been towed several feet (14.65 km) into deeper waters. Smithers breathes a sigh of relief and waves a fond farewell. He's going to die. Captain Cupcake: "Right then. Set a course for Canukistan, heading zero mark four on the compass thingy." "But Captain, shouldn't we join the Isas at Stately Isa Manor for cocktails and supper, as we are still rather attached to the Martini Blimp?" questions Galley Wench Katie. "Right you are GW Katie. Forget the course heading, we'll just ride this one out," states Captain CC.
Meanwhile, the countdown continues........
"Three, two, one.........bang"
The volcano blows. The noise is almost deafening. Hot lava courses out of the caldera, covering the island in a few short minutes (three Australian hours). Seismic indicators worldwide register what appears, at first glance, to be nothing. They're just not calibrated to read Evil Spew. Nonetheless, damage to Evil Island is widespread and immediate. Several feet of molten granite cover the fifteen square miles (3,485,342 sq. km) of the island in mere minutes. Hardening into an impenetrable mass in just a few short hours (3 Malaysian weeks), the Evil Island now appears to be encased, sealed forever.
Inside the Secret Evil Lair, stark realizations grow into thought. "Feck!" says Pete Evil. "Feck!" says Sam Evil. "Feck!" says Evil Dr. Greg. "Feck. Over." says Mad Moderator Hien. "Has anybody got any lip rouge?" asks Vixen Viv.
Thinking quickly, though in that sort of slow way evil people do, Pete Evil exclaims "No worries, Mate! I'll just pop up the radio antenna and call mum." Struggling to break through the thick, hardened crust of really hardened lava, the antenna surges through. "Halloooo, Mum? Say, we're in a bit of a pickle here. It seems that we need some assistance. Could you ring up Evil Assistant Sander? He'll know what to do. Yes, Mum, we're eating well. No, we can do our own laundry, but thanks for the offer. Yes, Evil Sam is OK too. How's Dad? Good? Right then, if you could just ring up Evil Assistant Sander, we'd really appreciate it. Thanks then. Love you .Yes, Sam sends his love too. And Mad Moderator Hien, yes, he sends love too. Evil Dr. Greg, yes, him too. Say Mum, what's lip rouge?" Rrrrrrriiiiiinnnggggg... "Mum, I must say good bye. I have another call coming in. Yes, I know how you hate this call waiting thing, but it's just a necessity. Bye Mum!" Rrrriiinnnnggg... "Pete Evil here. One more fecking call about your long distance rates and I will see that you never make another call again!! Get the feck off my phone, monkey boy!"
As the Evil's sort out their calling plan, bandage their wounded appendages, try to find Vixen Viv some colorful lip rouge, and sort out their predicament - the Isa's Martini Blimp sails off into the sunset.....
Three days later...
As the sun rises over Majestic Mount Isa, located in Queensland, Illinois, the intrepid and motley group of Evil Island survivors wake. The crew of the RCS Sinky Boat Thingy are aroused by the sounds of the soundtrack of "Hair", "Good Morning, Starshine..." As the melodic sounds fade through the mist, a lone voice calls out through a bullhorn, "Good morning, Campers!!!! This is your wake-up call!! The sun is shining! The air is clear and fresh! For a change of pace, Mimosas and Bloody Marias are being served on the veranda, along with a lovely breakfast buffet. This is a celebration!! We have defeated the Evil Norwegian Siamese Twins and life is good! Please form a line so no one misses out on this utterly delectable repast. Mrs. Isa has been cooking since our arrival."
As the adventure weary travelers begin to gather their senses and head toward the tropically decorated dining veranda, the scene fades to black...
Evil is still afoot...
We need to publish this...
(I love the calculations!)
Mmmhhh... TP the Movie....
Isa I need the Word Document again, it's going into the ideas folders.... This time one without Zombies....
But we need more money, and Peter Jackson just announced another movie, so he won't be available to do this...
Will send the Word file in the morning (our time) - need to add the last installments to the whole. Who needs Peter Jackson - we'll find someone WORTHY of the Project. All he has to his name are Lord of the Rings Epics... We need big, humongously famous, experienced cinematographers (who can also double as bartenders in their off hours)!!! I see John Williams for the musical score - unless you have some other suggestions... Maybe Randy Newman... Or Tito & Tarantula... Or Jimmy Buffett... He could revamp Margaritaville to TP Islandville...
Tarentino could put an interesting spin on the TP movie...teehee
Yeah, he and Robert Rodrigues - my second favorite director these days. Forget John Williams for the score - still working on someone who will do it justice.
...wiping sweat from her brow after reading that, our sometimes-contributor can feel the facts slipping away as she attempts a new chapter...
"Well, well, well."
"Well, well, WHAT?"
"I see they've been through here already."
"Dang it, Bubba reece, I'm your sidekick - NOT a mindreader."
"I said: The vodka-thieving Isas have alread come and gone from volcano. They escaped! Can't you see?"
"Oh, you drama queen!"
With that, the lingerie-store-manequin sidekick of the imfamous vodka bounty hunter stmbles away on her permanantly pointy feet. "See if I wear those fish net stocking for you tonight!!"
Bubba reece bounds across the still-hot lava after his sidekick. "Can't you smell the remnants of burnt martini? It smells like those flaming shots we had in the Bahamas last March!"
The island is in ruins. All that stands out across the landscape is the pink leather spaceship of our intergalactic vodka hunter. Bubba reece stops, bends to the ground, runs some lava between his gloved fingers.
"They haven't been gone long. We can still catch them..."
"You promised to take me to Victoia's Secret first," says sidekick Manny. "I want another C-cup in baby blue. Blue looks fabulous on me!"
"Yes, yes. We'll have time. I have a feeling they'll be slowed down by the number of people they've picked up along the way. I've found evidence of a kidnap victim, a Wocca beast, a llama, and a feckin' durain-obsessed prison convict..."
Bubba reece looks up to the sky and throws a fistfull of lava rock towards the heavens. "I'll get you yet, Isas. That vodka will be mine!"