Just then, as the trio (+ Pimpernel), stood there contemplating how they would find their nemesis Dr. Naughty, the solution literally bumped into them. A scrawny little pencil neck staggered backwards as he looked up to see a violence deprived gang of ruffians watching him eagerly. It was a mutual recognition between Pimpernel and the (SOLUTION).
Pimpernel: Well, well, well… if it isn’t Miklos.
Trauma ears turned a colorful shade of pink which usually meant he was starting to get slightly inebriated, or in this case really happy. As Miklos attempted to crab crawl backwards, Tito stomped on his chest and pinned him helplessly to the ground.
Pimpernel: Where is your master?
Without hesitation Miklos spilled the beans. After his twenty minute explanation, which was more than occassionally interupted with pleas of mercy, the trio stood and contemplated quietly. Well… Pimpernel contemplated seriously. Tito was grinding his combat boots into Miklos’s chest. Trauma accidentally thought about David Suzuki and shuddered at the scientific jargon that flooded his mind. He searched his pockets for tin foil, but the best he could do was a rusty Molson Canadian bottlecap. Vindicator flexed his ego, just to make sure it still worked. Dragon searched for Penelope. And Penelope was momentarially no where to be found.
Pimpernel: Okay Tito, I believe him. Let him go.
Tito: What? We out number him 5 to 1, and you want me to just let him go?
Pimpernel: He has served his purpose. There is no more to be gained from him.
Tito: Like hell! I say we bash his head in just to get our rocks off.
Trauma: I hear ya, brother!
Dragon: Wait! My Yoga powers sence that he is not telling the truth. That… or the beef jerky I bought off Baldrick.
A few more moments passed.
Trauma: I have an idea. I will get the truth from him.
Trauma walked up to Miklos and pulled him to his feet. He gripped Miklos’ face with his fingers and started concentarting.
Vindicator: What the hell are you doing?
Trauma: Its a little trick I picked up south of the border. Its called the Vulcan Mexi Melt(tm).
Vindicator: Excuse me?
Trauma: What it does is, it channels my bio-kinetic energy into a transferable force which flows from my body into his mind. The infussion of the bio-static charges fries his brain until it collapses into a half-pita, cheese filled fast food.
Vindicator: And the purpose of this is…?
Trauma: Just what I said.
Pimpernel: But wouldn’t that kill him? What possible use can that have?
Trauma (giggling): Too late…
Miklos slumped to the ground, the scent of three different spicy cheeses wafting through the air. Upon quick inspection, Pimpernel declared Miklos brain dead. The trio started on their way to the location given by Miklos.
Vindicator: (to Trauma) You did that on purpose.
Trauma: Tee Hee.
[writer - TRAUMA - Hows that? ]
Pimpernel: Well he told us enough. I really think you had him scared. When he started talking about what he did to his dead Grandmother…
Vindicator: He looked like a rabbit in a cosmetics lab!
Trauma: I say we go fetch the Caddy.
Pimpernel: You have a car?
Trauma: It’s not just a car. It’s THE Car! Before we go anywhere I gotta make sure no primates are praying to the almighty haedlight gods because we left it sitting outside of the town.
Vindicator: We are not the most popular visitors back there. I’m not a big fan of crazed villagers with pitchforks and torches…
Trauma: You worry too much.
Tito: Yeah! (munch) I never did get to “Ye olde Women’s Shelter”
Pimpernel: Tito, What are you eating?
Tito: A Mexi Melt(tm), why?
The vomiting was tremendous.
[writer - The Scarlet Pimpernel]
Trauma: ok, we’ve only got beef jerky for less than a day, no water, no J.D. we’ve got a walk of over 50 miles ahead of us and it’s all uphill, I say we get a move on.
Vindicator: damn, at least we had that lowly peasant Baldric with his donkey cart as transport before.
Tito: donkey cart?! Luxury! Why I remember walking 70 miles a day barefoot through minefields and abandoned glass factories to work in the lead mines for free. It was uphill both ways and there were hailstorms 3 times a week with hail as big as your head! At least I was happy.
Trauma: you candy-ass. I may not have been barefoot on my daily 90 mile trips but only because I had to wear rope sandals made out of razor wire and bomb shrapnel. Also I wore a backpack with 150 pounds of rocks in it the whole way. When it rained, which was always, I wore a steel helmet with a lightning rod on the top. My only pleasure came from the fact that the rain was actually typhus laced with sulfuric acid.
Vindicator: yeah really, once my car broke down and I had to walk almost 3 blocks to school.
Tito: Yep, so this should be a stroll through the park since we got plenty of beef jerky for the trip.
And so the Trio set off on their 50 mile trek across unfamiliar territory in renewed spirits confident that soon they would be back in the trusty Cahonemobile ready to resume their historic mission.
One mile down the road…
Tito: hey guys, we’re out of jerky. What the hell are we going to do now?
Meanwhile in another dimension, two sinister figures gazed into a viewscreen upon which the Trio was presently shown in their predicament.
Dr. Naughty: check out the wop putting away that beef jerky like there’s no tomorrow, Oh, how I hate them!
Erin Miklos: huhuhuh… I hate them, too.
(Erin Miklos, who had been brain-dead as a result of the vulcan mexi-melt had been cured through a minor operation involving a brain transplant from a gnat, there was even enough leftover gnat-brains to act as spare parts in case of future “mishaps”)
[writer - ????]
Dr. Naughty: They must be destroyed or else I know that despite their incredible stupidity, they will get in the way of my plans.
Merin Iklos: yeah, like, I almost would have killed them before but I…
Dr. Naughty: shut-up, you had your chance, this time I’m going to have the job done right.<reaches over and presses intercom button> Send in….”Him”.
The door to Dr. Naughty’s techno-magical inner sanctum slid open and in walked a huge figure dressed in black with heavy footsteps.
Eril Miknos: <Gasp!> Oh no! Not the hated MR. PUMPY!!!
Dr. Naughty: hehehe… Yes! Yes! Oh, what a rascal I am, nyuk, nyuk, nyuk! Okay, Mr. Pumpy, you see these troublesome personages on the viewscreen?
Enire Soklim: huuhuhuh, yup!
Dr. Naughty: shut-up, I was talking to Mr. Pumpy.
Mr. Pumpy silently nodded yes.
Dr. Naughty: Good! Now you know what I want you to do, and it ain’t prayin’… first, what you’ll do is…
Meanwhile, back at the trio…
Pimpernel: for the last time, I don’t have any jerky, Tito, and no, I don’t have any tinfoil, Trauma.
Trauma: did you check your pockets?
[writer - ...Tito Suave!!! ...it's going, someplace... ]
The time passed slowly for our intrepid heroes. Almost as slowly as the miles. Eventually they came to the carrion-strewn field of their last battle with the peasants. The vultures were circling high overhead, patiently waiting for the tresspassers to vacate their buffet.
Pimpernel: “Whew! What a stink!”
The Vindicator: “There’s only about 5 miles to town. We may encounter some of the villagers soon.”
Dragon: “I’ll use my yoga powers of concentration to put an S.E.P. shield around us.”
Trauma: “What’s that?”
The Vindicator: “Don’t ask until you replenish your tinfoil supply.”
A few dogs barked as they walked on, but no-one seemed to notice them as they passed by the outskirts of the town. At last their beloved Cahonemobile could be seen on the horizon. They were almost there.
Dr. Naughty: “Keep going, fools. Walk right into your own demise! Muahhahahaahahahaha!”
[writer - The Vindicator... Warming up. ]
After the 8-track had been successfully humbled by the pimpernel saving a couple magic the gatering cards into the inner workings. The car was started and the trio headed toward the tower of Merlin the great(finally!).
Pimpernel: So why do you call yourselves a trio when there is four of you?
Dragon: Five (Penelope: B’ka)
Pimpernel: sorry, five.
Trauma: Only three of us are really important.
Dragon: Sorry you had to hear about it like this, Vindicator.
Vindicator: Dragon. I sense some kind of Yogic distortion. There is great pain in your future.
Dragon: Really I don’t sense any… ARGH! VINDICATOR GET OFF ME! UNCLE!
Off in the distance was a large black obsidean spire that went up, way up reaching for the clouds like sme great reaching thing.
Pimernel: Is that the tower of Merlin?
Tito: It’s only a model.
Just then in a great puff of lavender smoke that smelled of raisins and viniger, apperaed an old man in gray robes and an arrogant scowl.
Merlin: I am Merlin the Magnificent. I have awaited your coming for almost thirty posts. I knew that the day would come that the beligerant ones would one day cross my threshold.
Tito: Listen mister, we were hoping…
Pimpernel: Let me talk to him. This is my kind of people.
The pimpernel stood foreward and broke into a sharp shakesperian tone before Tito could object.
Pimpernel: Oh great and powerful sorceror. We have travaled many leagues to gain aid from your all encompassing wisdom the means to end our quest and right the grave injustices that have befallen our people.
Merlin: Are you done?
Merlin: Good. I can get you to the reality witch you seek, but first you must each pass individual tests of bravery and skill. Come into my tower and the question shall begin…
Here’s the deal, we will each post our own characters individual test and then someone can start the story up again when we get to the other side
[writer - That Damned Divisive Pimpernel ]
The Pimpernel Followed Merlin down into a deep cave that smelled like it was recycling the air from a meatlocker. He clutched his well worn, lock stitched, indestructible Tilley hat close to his long black hair. It had seemed like such a good idea before. I mean, go through a dimensional portal, piss off an inter-dimensional arch- criminal and hook up with a bunch of ruffians that use you to open doors they think might explode. Simple right? The Pimpernel was now hooked inexorably into a plotline that ran like Hitchhikers guide to the galaxy with the screenplay written by Quentin Tarintino.
Pimpernel: So what’s this test like?
The Pimpernel waited eagerly for Merlin to elaborate, but when the old wizard did not say another word he tried a less subtle approach.
Pimpernel: So how do I pass this test?
Merlin: You must follow this cave till it leads to the other end.
Pimpernel: What’s at the other end?
Merlin: The end.
Pimpernel: Did you really mean that to sound ominous or was that just a funny little play on words for my benefit?
Merlin’s no nonsense stare was a source of much squirming on the Pimpernel’s behalf. Merlin disappeared in a puff of smoke leaving The Pimpernel with no one to talk to but himself. He thought about taking out the Star Trek novel out of one of the pockets in his coat he used for concealing various works of escapist literature, but felt he had best keep going down the hall.
Pimpernel: I really hate talking to myself.
Pimpernel: Really you could have fooled me.
Pimpernel: Why are you so sarcastic all the time?
Pimpernel: Will you guys be quiet? I cant hear myself
After such a stern verbal chastisement the Pimpernel hurried on his way. He was barely a hundred feet down the corridor when the corridor expanded into what seemed to be a large English garden. Sitting among the trees was a young blond woman wearing a skimpy revealing 18th century period dress that revealed her ample bosom. She sat with a small pink dog between her legs that filled the Pimpernel with intense envy.
Woman: Greetings, Traveler. I am Lady D’Grate. What brings you to my father’s Manorhouse?
Pimpernel: Any motives I had before seem pale when compared to the unexpected pleasure of your company.
Woman: Oh dear! My brother mustn’t hear you talk this way! Talk more softly.
Pimpernel: I fear that any delay could reflect badly upon me. My companions will no doubt be waiting for me…
Lady D’Grate frowned and bit her lower lip. She lifted the small dog off her lap and stood meaningfully. She walked over to The Pimpernel and put her hand on his shoulder.
Pimpernel: Oh well, I wouldn’t have waited for them…
Woman: Don’t talk, stranger…
Pimpernel: If you insist Milady.
Woman: Please, call me Catherine.
The two collapsed onto the bed of grass and were startled by the yelp of the little pink dog they landed on. They started steaming up the jungle when all of a sudden a revelation occurred to the Pimpernel.
Pimpernel: Wait a minute, your name is Catherine D’Grate?
The Pimpernel, despite all other biological distractions was forced to snicker.
Woman: Do not belittle my house by mocking my family name! How dare you you base fiend! My brother will make short work of you!
The woman shouted and shouted wile desperately trying to get her clothes back into a state where she could deny the whole thing. Through the bushes rushed a burly man dressed like a barbarian.
Woman: Peter! This man was making improper advances toward me!
Pimpernel: Oh boy…
Peter: You dishonored my sister! now you die!
Pimpernel: Look neighbor. I don’t want and trouble.
Peter: You will die now!
Pimpernel: I can see your a reasonable man…
The large burly man tried to flatten the Pimpernel with a blow to the head but it hit the Tilley hat and deflected harmlessly away.
Peter: You will pay for that!
Pimpernel: I can’t win, can I?
The battle was long and hard, basically because The pimpernel never seemed to run out of Trees to put in the way of the fight. All the time making belittling remarks about how foolish a fight this was. It is all well and good to feel outrage about your sisters dishonor. But Peter would be damned if he was going to waste a whole afternoon chasing around her latest stud. Like a Like a baseball player on strike, Peter just up and walked away.
Pimpernel: I guess I can win after all.
The Pimpernel continued on his quest. He headed down the corridor and came upon Merlin standing at the mouth of the cave.
Pimpernel: Can I leave?
Merlin: You have to wait for the judges ruling.
Pimpernel: What do you mean?
Merlin: The test was set to measure your self control and fighting prowess. The object was to resist Catherine’s advances and Defeat her brother. You did these things but in a way that suggests a character of little willpower, no sensibilities and an intense cowardice.
Pimpernel: Oh well, you can’t argue with results.
A scroll appeared in Merlin’s bony hand.
Merlin: I can’t believe this! The Judges allowed you to pass!
Pimpernel: Those judges must know how to have fun. If you will excuse me I have some belligerent ones to catch up with…
The End of The Test
[writer - ????]
Merlin returned to the audience chamber where the rest of the Trio were still waiting. Merlin pointed his staff at Tito and chuckled,”your turn, Chico.”
Vindicator: Where’s that damned <insert suitable adjective> Pimpernel?
Merlin: Your friend is safe (waves staff at wall mirror upon which an image of the Pimpernel playing a game of Magic, the gathering by himself in another part of the tower.
Tito accompanied Merlin down several passages. Finally Tito asked,” so, where are we going?”
Merlin: YOU are going to take your test and I’m sure you’ll fail.
Tito: Damn! I knew I shouldn’t have believed that wench back at the inn when she told me she was clean. I bet she gave me the clap, didn’t she?
Merlin stopped walking while Tito continued forward several more steps.
“I can’t answer that, but I will say that you strike me as a loudmouthed, loutish dullard,” said Merlin.
“Hey,” replied Tito,” I let that Chico crack slide but push your luck, staff-boy.”
Tito turned to face Merlin as he said this but Merlin, however, had disappeared and Tito suddenly found himself outdoors on a mountaintop held in the grip of a winter storm. He was now dressed as a circa World War One military aviator and he could see several meters in the distance the wreckage of what appeared to be a small dirigible that crashed on the mountaintop. In front of the wreckage huddled a group of men in almost similar uniforms to Tito’s. Tito trudged through the snow towards the group.
[writer -Tito Suave - with apologies to "The Red Tent and Red Skorpion" ]
One of the three huddled men stood up as Tito approached and addressed him.
“Captain, these are all the supplies we’ve recovered from the Hohenzollern,” he said pointing to several parcels at his feet.
“I think we should abandon the crash site and find shelter from this weather,” said another man.
Tito could now see how the uniforms differed. A crest on each tunic showed a different coat of arms underneath a nametag. Tito mentally noted his present company: WWI-era Germany – Schuller; Ottoman Empire – Murad; Kingdom of Bulgaria – Orlov. He scrutinized the insignia on his own uniform: Austro-Hungarian Empire – Tito. Murad had just spoken, preceded by Schuller. Schuller spoke again.
Schuller: No, we should remain with the wreckage. This storm is bound to break within a week at most at which time the great German zeppelin “Kaiser Wilhelm” will be sent to rescue us.
Orlov: But our food supply will only last for two days, three at most, we’ll probably be dead if and when help arrives.
Murad: there is nothing to forage or hunt for this high up. We must leave now before we are weakened to the point of having to place our lives on the chance of a zeppeling finding us.
The men looked to Tito for a final decision seeing as how he was presumably in command. After thinking a moment, Tito spotted a revolver among the recovered supplies and, picking it up he spoke to the men.
Tito: This is what we’re going to do. Schuller, you and Orlov will improvise a shelter out of pieces of the wreckage while Murad and I go investigate what looked like animal tracks that I saw while I was scouting around. I’m confidant that our food shortage will be somewhat alleviated when I return.
Tito and Murad trudged off leaving Orlov and Schuller behind.
Murad: (as they walk out of sight of the wreckage): I guess the attempt to have the Central Alliance be the first to successfully land an aircraft of Mount Everest is a complete failure. Don’t worry, Captain, my report to the Sultan won’t hold you as being solely responsible for the crash.
Tito: Hey, I think I saw something go behind that rock. Go around it; I’ll go the other way and when you flush it out, I’ll shoot it.
Murad, rube that he was, started in earnest to follow Tito’s directions. Tito wasted no time in retracing his steps after a couple of meters until he stood right behind the creeping Murad. The two point-blank shots from behind felled Murad almost instantly. After looting the body, Tito calmly walked back to the crash site.
[writer - ????]
As Tito approached the wreckage, Orlov and Schuller, who had heard the shots, stopped their work and looked at Tito.
Orlov: What happened? Where’s Murad?
Tito: he went berserk and attacked me, I shot him in self-defence.
Schuller: but he was unarmed.
Tito: he had a stick.
Orlov and Schuller just looked at him.
Tito: it was a pointy stick.
Schuller: you lied, you took him with you so it’d be easier to kill him.
Tito: I wasn’t lying. I said that our food situation would be improved when I came back. Now we have and extra two or three days of food between us.
Orlov: (charging Tito) you maniac! Let’s get ‘im! (Schuller charges also)
Tito get’s only one shot which fells Orlov who tumbles down the nearby cliff(Kurt) edge to his screaming death. Schuler knocks it down the mountain with Orlov before Tito can fire again and the two remaining men grapple fiercely. The two are fairly evenly matched and for several minutes, neither can gain an advantage.
Tito: (through clenched teeth) I’m going to kill you, German.
Schuller: …actually, my family emmigrated to Germany when I was small.
Tito: from where?
A surge of HATE energizes Tito’s body and after pulling out his brass knuckles, lays a heavy punch to Schuler’s face. Schuler let’s go and brings both hands to his face. Tito regains his feet.
Tito: okay, Schuller, start walking.
Schuller slowly gets up but makes no step. Finally he looks up and sees the blood on his hands .
Schuller: You broke my fuckin’ nose.
Tito: I said MOVE, Czech bastard!
Tito punctuates his last order with a heavy brass shod haymaker to Schuller’s bloody face again with enough force to knock him over the cliff(Kurt) as well to join Orlov somewhere on the bottom.
Tito curses at only having been able to loot Murad’s body. The turk only possessed 25 drachmas and a membership to “Friendly Omar’s Turkish Baths” in Istanbul. Tito arrogantly swaggers to the improvised shelter built by the late Orlov and Schuller and sets himself to making himself comfortable as he starts to snack on his now more than ample rations. Mmmm, he comments upon seeing the
food selection availlable to him. Beef Jerky! Yum-mo!
Just then, the windblasted outdoors are replaced by stone walls and Merlin appears.
Tito: how was that? pretty good, eh?
Merlin: your performance was horrible. You were supposed to prove your loyalty, resourcefulness, courage by giving your men leadership in their dark hour. Instead, your actions wer selfish, cowardly, brutal and criminal.
As they reentered the main part of the tower, an owl delivered a letter to Merlin. As Merlin opened it he cast a suspicious eye on Tito,” and another thing, give back the stuff you pilfered from the test, whatever is missing comes out of my paycheque.”
Merlin looks at the letter and his jaw drops open.
Merlin: What!? Well, as I expected you got zip on performance and courage but somehow you squeeked by on points for creativity and artistic merit. You passed.
Tito: I passed? So, you mean, I don’t have the clap?
End of Marshal Tito’s Test
Merlin: Come, you are next.
Trauma followed Merlin down the winding corridors, the echoes of Merlins staff clicking rythmically as they went on.
Trauma: So whats my test?
Merlin: Your test, like your companions, will reflect a side of you which you have poor control over and must concentrate your efforts to rectify that situation.
Trauma continued to follow in silence, not knowing exactly what to say. In fact he hadn’t the slightest clue what Merlin had said. Damn! Never any tinfoil when ya need it!
They came to a halt outside a massive reinforced wooden door.
Trauma: So… whats behind the door?
Merlin: Your test.
Trauma: It would be nice to know what that is.
He cursed under his breath, hoping that this one would not ask and therefore not know what he must do, resulting in a guaranteed failure.
Merlin: You must learn to control your temper. Under no circumstances must you allow your anger to control you, or allow yourself to lash out in violence.
Trauma: Oh please… I have self restraint. My temper is not out of control. Just let me get this test over with, beard-boy.
And so Trauma opened the door and stepped through… right in the middle of a … Fine Crystal and Bone China Shop.
Trauma: What the fuck is this? Faggot shit?
Just then, from the behind the maze of glass shelving, filled with thousands of pieces of the mst expensive and delicate crystal, glass and china, the shop keeper called out.
Shop Owner: Yoo-hoo! Hello.
Trauma looked over and saw the dainty little wisp, coming towards him.
Shop Owner: How may I help you?
Fuck! Thought Trauma. That Merlin is a lousy little sneak. He never said anything about faggots!
Trauma: Don’t touch me.
Shop Owner: Excuse me?
Trauma: You heard me, queer-boy, don’t fucking touch me.
The shop owner was taken aback at such rude and politically incorrect behavior.
Shop Owner: humpf. Well, I never. This is my shop and I don’t have to tolerate this abuse from some half-witted neandrathal like you-
He didn’t even have time to finish his sentence. Trauma had grabbed him by the throat and was throttling him with a series of punches to the face. The ailses were overly narrow. Obviously specially designed for these types of shops. But Trauma was doing surprisingly well… he managed to beat the owner into unconciousness without even rattling the shelves. Quite proud of himself, he let the shop owner slump to the floor, and as he did the limp arm nicked a ridiculously expensive crystal glass. It wobbled and fell, smashing on the floor.
From above, Merlin’s voice boomed in laughter. “I knew you would fail!”
Well that was it! Trauma turned and tipped over a shelf, toppeling it onto the one beside it so as to create a domino effect. Crystal, glass and bone china crashed and shattered across the floor. Picking up the shop owner, he heaved him into a glass display case.
Trauma: You laughing at me? You fucking laughing at me? No one laughs at me, you fuck! Failed, eh? Fail this!
He stomped across the glass strewn floor, smashing the pieces into smaller pieces. He began kicking over al the shelves, and tipping the display cases. He picked up the shop owner and slammed him into some more glass cases. Trauma picked up a wooded chair from behind the cash counter and started smashing again.
Trauma: How do you like that? And that… and that… and that…?
Nearly half an hour passed before there was nothing else to break. The huge door opened and Trauma walked back into the gloom of Merlin’s Tower, still holding the splintered and busted chair.
Merlin stood there with a smug look on his face, holding a scroll which he was in the process of opening. As he scanned it, he jaw dropped and his smile faded.
Merlin: You… you… passed?
Trauma: Fucking, eh.
Merlin: You scored zero right across the board. However, the judges gave you full points because they hated that Shop Owner with a passion. He was always giving them grief with all his lobby for affirmitive action and gay rights, and all the donations he was gathering for green peace and the march of dimes.
Just as Trauma was about to head back to join the Trio, he stopped and turned back towards Merlin. Merlin began to sweat. Trauma walked past him to a shelf full of vials and flasks and various other alchemical equipment. Still eyeing Merlin, Trauma gripped the edge of the shelf case and pushed it over. The contents smashed and spilled across the floor. He then walked back and as he passed by Merlin again, he said:
Trauma: And thats fo laughing at me, spell-boy.
[writer - TRAUMA - The End of Trauma's Test. ]
“You’re next,” said Merlin, as he poked The Vindicator in the ribs with his staff.
The Vindicator: “Hey Merlin! What’s that staff doing stuck halfway up your ass?”
Merlin: “Oh no, I’m not falling for that! Just follow me.”
Merlin led The Vindicator down the hallway, into a darkened room. In the room was a small wooden table upon which sat a candle. The dim light produced by the candle was just enough to illuminate the door on the opposite side of the room.
The Vindicator: “What now?”
Merlin: “Just go throw that door… All will be made clear soon.”
The Vindicator: “What if I choose not to go?”
Merlin: “Then you die here.”
The Vindicator: “Hmm… Nice lookin’ door. Mind if I try it?”
The Vindicator turned the doorknob and the room began to twist around him, as if reality had been bent a millionth of a degree.
When the teamster with the jackhammer left his head, The Vindicator realized that he was in a dark, noisy nightclub somewhere.
Women in tight leather outfits were rubbing up against overly-hairy men on the dancefloor… Off to the right, some chick was rubbing up against some geek playing Mortal Kombat.
Seeing a gorgeous blonde at the bar, [writer - The Vindicator made his move. A quick blast of binaca and he was in motion.
The Vindicator: "Hey baby, wanna dance?"
Blonde Chick: "Sorry, I don't dance with dorks."
The Vindicator: "'Scuse me... I didn't realize there was a lesbian convention in town."
The Vindicator mosey'd across the dancefloor (as only the truly arrogant can), eyeing women and laughing at all the smaller guys.
"Hey baby," he said to a cute brunette in a white blouse and jeans, "wanna dance?"
Chick #2: "Fuck off."
The Vindicator: "M-O-O-N. That spells Dyke!"
Strutting up to the bar, [writer - The Vindicator bumped into a fabulous red-head...
"Hi. Wanna dance?", he said.
Red-Head: "Do I look desperate to you?"
The Vindicator: "No. You look like a cheap whore."
He ordered a Molson Dry and leaned casually against the bar for a moment.
The Vindicator: "Too bad all these chicks are queer... We could have had a good time."
Suddenly, The Vindicator was back in the room with the candle on the table.
Merlin stood behind him grinning.
A small, winged monkey handed him a scroll, which Merlin read.
Merlin: "I can't believe this!"
The Vindicator: "What?"
Merlin: "You passed! The whole test was designed to display your tremendous ego as a negative trait, but the judges felt that anyone who could get turned down by women as often as that, and STILL think they're the centre of the Universe deserves to pass. It also says that the judges have alot of trouble with dykes at the bars."
The Vindicator: "So that's it?"
The Vindicator: "Damn... I didn't get to finish my beer."
[writer - The Vindicator - finally.]