A Knockers/Dr T/Ford Prefect Production

- Original Story by Jamie Greer

The young boy’s head exploded violently for no apparent reason. Layers of adolescent blood and brains caked the nearby walls, only just newly painted last Tuesday. The boy, called “Will” , was dead. Will’s young mother, a meter two years older (due to an accident with an experimental condom), entered the room. She saw her dead son and screamed. She had forgotten to tell him that he was actually her lover and that his father was actually a transvestite lesbian who had a sex change. The pressures were building and Will’s mother suddenly had a temporal flashback to the days fo Genghis Kan’s conquests, the invention of the diaper, and the gold mines of Burma. She pulled a loaded pistol from her handbag and aimed it at her temple. She pulled the trigger and the blast sent her brains out her left ear. More brains and blood sprayed against the wall.

Meanwhile, Barry pondered the thoughts of the universe…

David, the Family Cockroach exterminator, whistled gleefully as he entered the large house. he called out to his mistress’ name, but heard nothing but the sound of a goldfish sneezing in a highly chlorinated puddle. He began his climb up the polyester stars, hoping to bump into a tall blonde-haired woman from Toledo that he met just four years ago. His wishes went unfulfilled, and the stairs suddenly disappeared.  David fell headfirst, his face slamming hard into the Teflon floor. His brain was drilled upwards into his feet, not even stopping for a chat with the lungs it so dearly missed.

In a remote area of South Africa, on Grandpa Guido’s Aardvark Farm and Cajun Restaurant, Paul sat idly, thinking about his troubles.  He owed the Central American Government several million dollars for overdue library books and was beginning to feel guilty about spreading the malicious rumour that America sold arms to Iran.  He got up from his seat and headed into the back kitchen, absent-mindedly stepping on Bob the Dog, who soundlessly squealed and died of internal hemorraging and worms.  Paul quickly stuck his hand in an operating meat grinder and laughed coldly as his right hand was reduced to ground flesh.  He turned and left to tell his quadriplegic girlfriend that he was running off with a giraffe named Flo that he met at the zoo the other day.

In a sleazy bar, somewhere in Wisconsin, Larry polished the blade of his new chainsaw, thinking of all the dirty and disgustingly gut-wrenching deeds he could perform with his new toy. Larry smiled. He had found his destiny.

Several miles away a tall, blonde-haired woman from Toledo (who was actually just visiting and came from Miami) named Diane walked along the street. Diane never noticed the large Mutant Lima Bean behind her and just barely noticed when the Bean swiped her head off. The bloody head bounced sever feet before being devoured by a carnivorous grasshopper.

Somewhere in New Orleans, Melville the Artificial Organ Salesman stroked his Velcro toupe. He sighed as hundreds of bristles rubbed his hand. But despite his permanent smile, Mel was depressed. He hadn’t sold a heard in over a month. Door-to-door organ selling wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. he opened his briefcase and picked up a kidney. “My kidneys are as good as anybody’s”, Mel though. Actually Mel was wrong. His kidneys suffered from plastic stress and has multiple fracture lines.

In the jungles of Siam, an elephant wandered aimlessly about with no place to go. Suddenly, it stepped on a land mine and blew up. Lard, reddened chunks of elephant meat fell to the ground with a loud splat.

In the dorm of jack the Student, jack finished re-reading the Encyclopedia Brittanica for the third time. The boy was 12 and was already in his last year at University. But with with an IQ of 213, Jack longed to be the leader of a satanic sex cult where nude pictures of Heather Thomas were posted and where disgusting rituals were to take place between a guy and a girl. But Jack knew that was impossible. For Jack was a homosexual.

Miles away, the Lima Bean finished another meal of human intestines. the Bean got up from it’s morsel and began to search for another target. And it saw the target. A tall-blonde-haired man with a crew-cut and scar. The man was carrying a chainsaw.

Larry looked intentively at the Mutant Lima Bean in front of him. he smiled a toothy grin, showing his newly-filed fangs. Larry quickly revved up his chainsaw and advanced at the quivering freak. Larry laughed loudly as the metal chain ripped deep into the Bean’s side. Green juice sprayed upwards, hitting a nearby wall, which only only been graffitied last Tuesday. With a pathetic try that sounded something like a constipated wildebeast, the Bean died. Larry was pleased. His destiny was coming true.

Paul walked slowly across the South African desert. what a mess he was in! His ex-girlfriend ran off with a flasher, and the giraffe he was to marry eloped with an antelope called Fred! Pal began to sob quietly. He absently-mindedly stepped on a groundhog and it soon died from pierced lung. Paul opened his satchel and pulled out a large jar of honey. Looking around, Paul finally saw what he was looking for. he quickly dug a deep hole right beside an ant hold and he then poured honey over his face. he jumped into the hole and re-buried himself with some difficulty. Paul chuckled as a swarm of red ants climbed over his face and ripped the skin off in painful layers.

Meanwhile, Barry pondered the thoughts of the Universe…

In new York, Alice the Blind Driving Instructor had just finished another fun-filled lesson. She was to meet her blind date, Alex, at the cafe around the corner, but due to a cruel joke played by Lonzo the Street Punk, Alice ended up in Alaska near a Crab meat Cleaning Station. Alex, feeling unwanted, went to the big bridge over the water, ready to jump. But Alex found the wrong bridge, and when he jumped, he was hit by a large Mack truck. Tomar, the Truck Driver, stopped his truck when large blots of red liquid sprayed against his windshield. He went into the front of his truck and saw the splatted remains of a dead person. Tomar looked at the mess for a few seconds, shrugged hopelessly, and then returned to the truck and drove off.

back in New Orleans, Mel sighed deeply. He decided to see if his artificial organs really worked. Taking an Exacto knife from the kitchen drawer, Mel made the first incision right above his liver. Suddenly, Mel realized he didn’t have any artificial livers left, so he made a second incision above his kidney. The knife made a clean, deep cut, and Mel was pleased with his own dexterity. When the incision was completed, he put down the knife and thrusts his hairy hand inside his stomach. with one quick jerk, he pulled out his kidney. After a desperate search, Mel found the artificial kidney in his colour (a putrid shade of green), and thrust it back in. Grabbing a nearby sewing machine, he stretched the wounded flesh over and in 14 seconds, he resealed the wound. So far, so good. Mel sat down and waited.

Jack said goodnight to his boyfriend Harold and closed the door. Jack still had dreams of starting a sex cult – one that was straight, not gay. So Jack went to a nearby variety store and purchased every porno magazine about women that he could find. He brought them all home and began to study them. Jack smiled. Girls’ sex organs were far more interesting than men’s.

Mel waited…

Larry wiped the green juice from his blade and continued down the dark alley. “Destiny”, he thought. “I must fulfill my destiny.” By 10:00 that night, he had killed 14 rats, 5 bums, 3 alcoholics, 2 innocent bystanders, and 6 prostitutes. Larry was quite pleased with himself.

Back in South Africa, Grandpa Guido came home from a hard day’s work of aardvark ranching. He sucked hard on a cut on his finger that he had acquired after being bitten by Thelma the Aardvark. He stopped when it turned white and watched with excitement as it returned normal. Guido looked around and saw an unopened envelope on the kitchen table. It was for Paul. Guide opened it. It was written by the Central American Council on Weapons and Library Books, stating that if Paul didn’t pay the $1,567,899.15 he owed in overdue book fines that they were going to put a price on his head. Guide smiled and ripped up the letter. Guide hated Paul and wanted desperately to see Paul get his head blown off.

At midnight, Paul slowly pulled himself out of the hole, brushing off the remaining ants from his bloodied face. He stretched his arms, yawned, and then headed home. He went to rub his eyes but found that his left eye has been eaten by some hungry ants. Paul cursed.

Meanwhile, Barry pondered the thoughts of the Universe…

In a small town on the boarder of Wisconsin, Chris the Mailman did his daily rounds. Chris was happy being a mailman. Unfortunately, everyone on his rounds hated him because of his optimistic attitude. Unbeknownst to the happy-go-lucky mailman, the town was plotting an assassination attempt as this very moment.

And Tammy Faye Bakker cried for no reason.

IN the heart of New Orleans, Greg, the President of the Ollie North Fan Club, cycled gleefully down the road. But Greg was short-sighted and didn’t see the bulldozer running loose down the street. In ten short minutes, Greg was nothing more than a red spot on the pavement.

In Chicago, Aaron walked quietly down the street. Aaron was paranoid. Several months ago, Aaron fingered Big Al at a baseball game. Big Al was the leader of the Chicago Mafia. Aaron was sweating heavily. And then he heard it. A throaty growl from the shadows behind hmi. It was a dog. Aaron looked deeply at the growling animal and then ran in fear. Pit-bull Attack! Chasing Aaron was Ivan the Pit-Bull, a dog that went missing after eating a newspaper boy. Ivan snarled as Aaron sprinted down the sidewalk. Ivan jumped and landed on the young man’s head. He began to chew the flesh off of Aaron’s face, and in seconds, engulfed the young man’s head. In minutes, Ivan had eaten down to Aaron’s waste. But instinct drove Aaron on, and the young man kept running. In five minutes, Ivan had eaten down to Aaron’s ankles. Aaron could endure no more. the man collapsed and seconds later, Ivan finished his meal. Ivan burped, ran to the train station, and caught a train to Wisconsin.

And suddenly, Mel the Artificial organ salesman died.

Somewhere in Nicaragua, Rodrigues the Bounty Hunter finished his morning sniping pracive, and the phone rang.  It was Tiko, the Presidante.  Tiko told Rodriguez tht a South African named Paul owed a lot of month to Central America in overdue library fines.  Rodriguez knew his task.  he had caught library offenders before and would do it again.

Larry walked calmly down the streets of New York.  suddenly, Lonzo jumped him from behind.  Larry spun around, revved his chainsaw and sliced the youngster in half.  Larry started briefly at the dual parts, and then left for the train to Wisconsin.

In South Africa, Paul boarded the Delta plane to Wisconsin, America.  Paul was sick of South Africa and longed for a change of lifestyle.

Meanwhile, Barry moved to Wisconsin and pondered the thoughts of the Universe there.

In the basement of the University of Wisconsin, Jack held the first meeting of the satanic Sex Cult of heather Thomas.  Only two others showed up – Bruce the Football Hunk and his girlfriend, Debbie.  jacked watched depressingly as Bruce and Debbie performed the ritual.  Suddenly, the foundations of the University collapsed, and the large building collapsed along with them.  All 5,327 students were kills.  And thus, the cult was disbanded.

Ivan the Pit-Bull roamed the streets of Wisconsin in the hopes of meetings a good-looking female pit-bull or a meat-filled morsel to eat.  Suddenly, Ivan saw it.  Blood.  It led to a barbed wire fence.  Ivan followed it.  And suddenly, the carnivorous grasshopper ate Ivan in one massive gulp.

Meanwhile, as Barry pondered the thoughts of the Universe, a chainsaw-wielding young man ravenously cut off his head.

Somewhere in Pennsylvania, Tomar the Truck Driver drove towards new York.  Suddenly, an armadillo with a tuxedo rolled out in front of the large Mack truck.  To avoid staining the clean tux, Tomar swerved.  The truck hit head-on with an Army tank and the two exploded.  Tomar died happily, knowing that at least the armadillo had a clean, neat tuxedo.

In Nicaragua, an unknown assassin snuck into Tiko’s chamber.  The assassin pulled out his gun and shot the sleeping Presidante.  As the assassin left out the window, he fell, plummeting several stories before making a loud spat on the ground below.

Rodriguez left Grandpa Guido’s Aardvark Farm and Cajun Restaurant, cursing.  He had just found out that Paul had gone to Wisconsin, America.  Popping in his private jet, he flew off.  Suddenly, Grandpa Guido groaned, keeled over, and died from a heart attack.

On an African range, a giraffe and an antelope were kissing.  Flo and Fred were engaged in a passionate kiss, when all of a sudden, a poacher named Carl shot them both.  The two fell and landed with a dull thud on the incredibly dumb hunter.

Samantha, Paul’s ex-girlfriend, and her new husband, Tom the Flasher, flew home from their honeymoon.  But no one could have known that the plan was rigged with explosives, set by a Abdul the Libyan Terrorist, who was hiding in the bathroom.  Ten minute later, the plane exploded, killing Samantha, Tom, Abdul, and the other 43 passengers.

Meanwhile, as Barry’s spirit absorbed the thoughts of the Universe, he was sucked into a vacuum cleaner bag by a housekeeper named Sandy.

Paul walked carefully down a dirty Wisconsin street.  He heard a noise from behind and picked up a brick from the ground below.  then he saw a middle-aged Nicaraguan with a rifle.

Rodriguez fired at Paul, but Paul threw the brick a spit second sooner.  The bullet spray found it’s mark on Paul.  His body was filled with lead.  He died seconds later.  The flying brick caught Rodriguez on the side of his head, and the Nicaraguan Bounty Hunter stumbled a few feet before collapsing by a barbed-wire fence.  Minutes later, he was eaten by a carnivorous grasshopper.

As Sandy finished cleaning her house, she went to check out her supper in the microwave.  She failed to notice the hulking form of her Grade Dane, Muffin Pusher.  Sandy screamed as her once-faithful hound closed the door and turned on the microwave for two minutes.  Sandy found it hard to breathe and felt nauseous from the smell of her melting skin.  After 1 1/2 minutes, Sandy exploded.  Muffin Pusher laughed, went outside, and absent-mindedly got hit by a car and died.

Harold cried heavily after finding out that his gay boyfriend Jack died in the collapse of the University.  Harold had been on vacation when it happened.  Harold decided that there was nothing more to do than walk naked through the minefield next door.  Ten minutes after starting out, Harold hit a mine and exploded.

In Chicago, Big Al the mafia King sat in his limo as Muskov the Chauffeur drove him around town.  Suddenly, from absolutely nowhere, a fragmentation grenade appeared in the trunk and exploded.  The shrapnel blew out Big Al’s chest and shattered Muskov’s skull.  The car swerved and hit a 7-11.  The area exploded violently and the mafia King was dead.

Larry sat back.  he was happy.  His destiny was unrolling quite well.  Larry enjoyed his job.  Chainsaw massacres had opened a new door for him and he liked it.  Larry suddenly sat up.  he heard the chirping of a grasshopper from the front toor.  He grabbed his shiny chainsaw and headed to the door.  Slowly, he pulled the door open and looked down.  there, snarling at him, was a carnivorous grasshopper…

Tune in next time to find out:

• Will Larry kill the grasshopper?
• Will the grasshopper kill Larry?
• Who will pay Paul’s library fines?
• Are jack and the Satanic Sex Cult of Heather Thomas really dead?
• Is the Mutant Lima Bean really dead or is it just kidding?
• Is Carl the Poacher dead?
• Who will lead the Mafia, now that Big Al is dead?
• Will Barry’s spirit ever escape from Sandy’s vacuum cleaner bag?

… Trauma in the lead, the others followed the trail he blazed through the wilderness. Trauma rode a fine black steed. It’s muscles glistening in the haze. Tito was mounted on a 12 year-old filly (as is his preference) and Dragon brought up the rear (as is his preference) riding side-saddle on the chicken.

Dragon’s dress flapped in the wind, providing anyone whom was foolish enough to look with a fine view of his scrawny legs. Trauma Groovy’s hair did not move at all… This is a skill unique among the groovy.

As the sun began to set the following day, they came upon the outskirts of Dodge City… The signpost at the main road said “Dodge City – Sheriff 1, town 0”. There was a rather hungry looking buzzard perched atop the sign, which Dragon snatched and threw into his satchel (for later).

Trauma surveyed the surroundings… He saw no sign of treachery, and this bothered him. Something was amiss… The streets were empty, yet it was only 7 pm… This was bad.

“Maybe the Proletariat got them?” Suggested Tito.

“Groovy” replied Trauma Groovy.

“Skiddillywawa” came from a voice from behind them.

They turned to look and saw The Vindicator standing there (with a repulsively large welt on his head where the Pez had struck him).

“Vind!” cried Trauma… “How did you escape from Robin?”

“Escape? He never captured me! I was looking for the book, and a tree snuck up on me and walloped me in the head. I’ve been in and out of consciousness for the last 2 days. I think that it was due mostly to your damned Pez!”

“Groovy”

“Skid- STOP that!” yelled The Vindicator.

“Just give me an ice pack and some aspirin”

“No aspirin or ice pack, I’m afraid…” said Trauma. “All we have is your gym bag with the Binaca, the shades and the inflatable helicopter.”

“Well then, gimme that. I’ll put on the shades. At least if I look good, I may start feeling good. Mind over matter, and whatnot.”

“Rock on!”

“I hear ya brother!”

[writer - The Vindicator - Skinning Tim’s rabbit...]

“Here” said Dragon holding up the dead Buzzard.

“What’s that?” asked Vindicator

Dragon looked at him funny. “It’s a dead buzzard”

“I KNOW that! What’s it for?!”

“Oh! It’s to make you feel better! It makes me feel better when I need it.”

“That’s because you were hungry! You’re an idiot!” Frustrated the Vindicator got up on the back of Trauma’s horse (as was Trauma’s preference!) and they rode on.

“I was not hungry…” muttered Dragon under his breath.

“But you are an idiot.”

Dragon looked up…. where did the voice come from? The rest of the party was ahead of him…. he looked at the chicken. Nahhhh.

[writer - DRAGON!!! -- TBOFRN]

Mean while…

In a large castle, on the edge of town. Oddly looking like a large ranch styled house.

“STOP! Please I’ll tell you anything. Just STOP!” Begged Blade. “Never you little wretch. I do this for pleasure. Besides you have nothing worth telling.” Said the Sheriff holding the vulture feather close to Blade’s left foot. “I do! I DO! Uhh… like I know how they put that soft flowing caramel into the bar.” said Blade quickly. “Really this could prove useful. Very well I’ll untrap you, but don’t try anything. Your shoes are over there.” said the greedy Sheriff. Putting on his shoes Blade discussed.

The basics of the secret (his great-uncle had invented the process). After an hour of intense teaching the Sheriff could finally believe that it was done with machines, and that there was no magic behind it (Those commercials are misleading). The Sheriff then ran off to gather the parts, and ingredients. Taking his chance Blade sprung for the door making a strange springing sound, only to bounce into the Sheriff. “Forgot to lock you up lad. I won’t put any chain on this time though” said the Sheriff, when a overly large man walked in. “Sir we just found out that Robin ‘ood has already bought the rights to the theme of our Theme park. So we need a new prize for the tournament to catch Robin ‘ood, and those strangers.” said the man. “Well then, what could we give away that we don’t really need now. Hmm both the Sheriff, and the man looked at BLADE.” Both the Sheriff and the fat man turned to BLADE, and smiled.

[writer - Blade]

The streets of Dodge where filled with the Sheriffs men. Trauma, Tito and Dragon dismounted and tethered their steeds to a post. Of course the chicken went about pecking furiously at his reigns.

Standing at the forefront of the sheriff’s men was Prince John. Suddenly from behind the three lone heroes came a voice. Everyone looked to see Robin ‘ood and his men…. quickly overwhelmed by another group of the Sheriffs men hidden in the nearby buildings. (How conveniently they are dispatched, eh?)

Vindicator squinted to take a closer look at Prince John. “Hey!” he cried out, “I know you! Your not Prince John… your our evil nemesis the Evil Dr. Naughty!”

“HA HA!” laughed he, “And I have your Book! The pages of history and all literature are mine to rule!”

“Not if I can help it.” Said Trauma. With lightning speed unholstered his SpiderMan Pez dispenser and peppered Dr. Naughty with orange flavoured Pez. In his final gasps of breath while fading into unconsciousness, he said, “Oh you have be-peppered me with Pez. Oh leotarded one. The Book…. is…. thine.” All the sheriffs’ men now converged onto the three heroes and the now loose chicken. Suddenly! Trumpets echoed through Dodge City and in charged King Richard and his soldiers. Quickly they dispatched Dr. Naughty’s men…

to be continued….

The Vindicator, adjusting himself in his tights, picked his way through the body strewn main street of Dodge City. Standing in a small clustered group, King Richard smiled and patted Trauma, Tito and Dragon on the head.

“I thank you for cleaning out all the rubbish from Dodge.” he said, “For your courage I would like to grant all of you whatever you wish.” Out of the corner of his eye he spotted someone approaching them, and then everyone had seen him too. The green clad man carried a bow and was wearing tights.

“Crimminy Jickets!” Richard exclaimed, and Vindicator made a face. “Wot are ye s’pposed to be then? A faerie?”

“A Faerie?! Stroll on. I’m Robin ‘ood.” The man huffed.

“Robin ‘ood? Never ‘eard of ye.” Richard shook his head, “Wot is ye want?”

“What is it I want?!? Why I was about to save all of England from the clutches of the evil Dr. Naughty and restore your rightful throne.” Robin said.

Richard again shook his head, “Still have no clue who you are son.”

“Robin ‘ood!” Robin ‘ood exclaimed, “You know… steal from the rich, give to the poor!”

“Oh,” Richard crossed his arms, “A common criminal, eh?” Several guards moved towards Robin.

“Wot?” Robin cried in disbelief, “No no no. My band of merry men and I-“

“Organized crime? We ‘ave a stiff penalty for that around here ye know.” Richard responded, and the guards quickly disarmed him and held him securely.

“I was going to free England. But thanks to those meddling kids… you wait Trauma! I’ll get you,” the guards were hauling his flailing body away, “Ye ‘aven’t ‘eard the last o’ me…!”

“Now. Where were we?” Richard continued after the slight interruption.

“Wait!” Vindicator called out, “Where’s Dr. Naughty?”

Everyone looked frantically about, but the body was no where in sight. Suddenly one of Richard’s guards called out. “Look! Up on the roof!” there holding the Book was Dr. naughty. Directly in front of him suspended in mid air was a crackling black and shimmering blue doorway! Saluting and leaping into the portal with the Book, he vanished.

“Quick! We don’t have much time!” The Vindicator announced, and bolted for the rooftop. Trauma, Tito and Dragon (still holding his chicken) followed close behind.

“Sorry to run out on ya like this King. Next time we’re passing through Dodge, we’ll take you up on you offer.” Trauma called back. Leaping into the fading doorway, they soon experienced the ever-familiar sensation of falling. Falling through the blackness they had no idea of where or when they will end up next…

[writer - TRAUMA - Okay... here we go again.]

Our not so heroic heroes once again feel that familiar falling sensation, and then land with a thump, “Ooph”, “Hey get off you geek”, “Hey this chicken tickles”.

All, ”Shut up about the chicken!”

“Sorry.” replied Dragon.

“Hey the portals still open” said a confused Trauma. “Ahhhhhhhh” clink.

“Blade! what happened to you?” asked Dragon.

“Well hmmmmm. nothing I just got lost, but I saw you’s guys jump into the portal so I ran for it to. No way I was getting stuck for a booby trap prize. Where are we?”

“That’s what we forgot to do look around.” said the Vindicator.

“Whoa” all.

“It looks like a space ship,” said Dragon. “Whoa”.

“Hey you.” said a voice, which belonged to a fat little man.

“Are you smart?”asked the man.

“Well most of us” said Tito looking at Dragon, and the chicken.

“You make our ship.” said the man, as he lifted a small little device…

[writer - Blade Sorry I had to!]

Dragon looked at the chicken, which pecked his nose. “Ouch! That didn’t tickle!”

“He talks to the chicken?” asked the little man.

“Yeah and occasionally the chicken replies” stated Trauma.

“Enough about the bloody chicken! What’s this device thingy?” Shouted Vindicator and snatched a small metallic object from the little man’s hands. “Why…. it looks like a…..nahhh…..but it does…a Pez dispenser! Hey Traums! Check this one out!”

‘I’m going to kill him every time he calls me that!’ thought Trauma as he strode over to Vindicator.

Dragon had walked over to a nearby window…the chicken stretched out to peck the ship’s hull and only succeeded in stunning himself. “Awww…. poor chickie…..” cooed Dragon as he soothed his pet….

[writer - DRAGON!!! -- TBOFRN]

“I say we kill everyone on this ship.” Whispered Trauma. Tito nodded, “But first we have to learn from them how to operate the thing.” In agreement they both strode up to the aliens. After a lengthy explaining process, they managed to convince the stupid aliens to show them how to operate the equipment. Telling them they had to be familiar with the operations to understand how to help them. Help them, smiled Trauma. What saps.

It was a four day odyssey in the learning of the ship. But being quick studies, they learned it. On the last day, in the trust of the aliens they stood before the captain. “Well your ships almost repaired.” lied Tito. As a matter of fact the ship was fully functionally and slightly beefed up. “Thank you my friends.” Smiled the captain.

“Yeah… whatever.” Trauma pulled a modified Pez dispenser and ripped several projectiles into his torso. Killing him. His face was stone cold as he repeated the bloody carnage the remaining bridge crew. After the last corpse was still, Trauma turned to Tito and bowed slightly. “Its all yours Marshal.” and grinned. Taking the command chair, Tito appraised the view. “Carry out extermination contingency now.” Through the ship a deadly gas cut own the unsuspecting aliens. Their bodies later jettisoned into the vacuum by reprogrammed Sanitation Droids.

[writer - TRAUMA - groovy.]

Then enter Blade and Dragon both looking a little annoying squirming about. “You guys notice that there’s no bathrooms in our quarter’s. Where the hell do we go!” said Blade. Then Trauma entered the room, also looking as if he had found out the news. “Well that’s OK we can work with this.” said the Vindicator. Needless to say our heroes solved that small problem. As Dragon came out onto the bridge, a large ship decloaked in front of our heroes newly upgraded Packlet ship. Tito looked to his crew, and smiled…

Tito looked at his crew and smiled.

“Ok,” he began as he settled into the command chair,” everyone to your stations. We can change these later but for now: Trauma, you take weapons control. Dragon, you take the helm, and you – the albino midget with the funny looking nose, take communications.”

“But Marshal,” advised Dragon,” that’s no midget, that’s a chicken.”

“I don’t care if he’s afraid of fighting, but okay, fine, Vindicator, you take communications, and Blade, you monitor ship’s systems and check the external sensors.”

Tito picked up a nearby newspaper and folded it under his arm,” …while you guys are setting up your stations, I’ll be, uh, busy,” he said as he began walking toward what appeared to be a bathroom.

“We don’t have time for that,” said Trauma, ”the alien ship is hailing us,” announced Vindicator.

Blade looked forlorn, ”Now my juniper bushes will be ruined. Why couldn’t it have been rain instead of hail. Why? Why, oh why?”

He was ignored.

Tito ordered,” Put through the audio of their transmission.”

The message blared through, ”Unidentified vessel, we detect that your drives are functional and since you are trespassing in our territory, we order you to depart immediately. In other words, if you are still here a minute from now, we will spread your guts across this entire sector.”

Trauma announced,” Tito, we have the biggest guns, I say we kill’em!”

Tito nodded, ”Of course but not so fast, let’s improve our chances with some well chosen treachery. Initiate Plan B.”

Dragon, Vindicator, Blade and the chicken were not aware of Plan B since they had not been part of Tito’s and Trauma’s crew on a spaceship in a different continuing story. They asked in unison (well, the chicken pecked inquisitively):”what’s Plan B?”

Trauma explained, ”Basically it’s to lower their defences with sweet talk and then blast the crap outta them.”

Tito was caught up in explaining it also in his colourful and offensive way: ”You see guys, successfully ambushing a spaceship is kinda like getting some chick to boff ya. You gotta slowly get her legs open by saying you love her and all that while licking her earlobe or innocently massaging her shoulders (or upper BACK -get it?) and as soon as her legs are open far enough you hafta jump in there before she regains conscious- I mean changes her mind, and hide the sausage if you catch my meaning…”

Unfortunately before the crew could comment on Tito’s prosaic analogy the audio blared again, ”You have thirty seconds remaining!”

[writer - ...TITO SUAVE!!! (...so much machismo, you can even smell it!)]

“Open communications channels…” said Tito.

“Open sir!”

“Alien Vessel… As your sensors have already told you, our engines are fully functional. However, we are severely short of Bilithian crystals and are unable to return to our own solar system. Could you assist?”

“…”

A moment’s silence passed as the alien ship’s captain considered this.

“Blade, go to engineering and remove half of the Bilithian crystals from the Hyper-Space chamber.” Barked Tito…

A moment later, just as Blade was returning from his duties (convenient, eh?) the ship’s computer registered a light scan..

“Ship’s computer just registered a light scan, sir.” Said The Vindicator redundantly.

“Alien vessel… We have determined that you are truly operating with an insufficient supply of Bilithian crystals. Prepare to receive a fresh supply via Trans-Mat beam.”

A menacing grin spread across Tito’s face… Trauma heard the light glint off his teeth… The Vindicator slapped Dragon in the back of the head for no apparent reason.

[writer - The Vindicator - Floating through the Ether...]

Feeling rather useless…Dragon went on aimless wander through the Ship. After a few mins he wandered into a dead section of the ship (well…the whole ship was dead except for the bridge). He heard a muffled “help me”…. looked at his chicken(just in case) and the chicken was straining to hear it as well. Opening a door to a closet he saw a beautiful woman tied up and gagged. He immediately loosened the gag and was surprised to see who it was.

“Aren’t you the…” started Dragon…

“Yes…the woman with the Rose tattoo” she replied.

“You really have a rose tattoo?”

“Yes…would you like to see it?”

Suffice to see she was untied and both Dragon and the chicken saw what few people have ever seen first hand! After throwing a nearby, convenient glass of water on Dragon, he awoke from his fainted stated along with the Chicken.

“Wow” came a whispered word.

“You can say that again!” said Dragon, who immediately looked at the chicken!

[writer - DRAGON!!! -- TBOFRN]

Hitting solid earth the adventurers had been separated. The place, England. The time (more than likely bloody tea time);

Vindicator pulled himself to his feet with a groan. “The Book!” he looked around frantically. it was gone. He had to find the others and get the book back.

Blade wandered the woods for hours until finally he crossed paths with a group of horsemen. “Hold nave. Or wilts separate thy head from thy body.” He was captured by a roving band of the Sheriffs men. In shackles he was lead back to the castle… probably never to be heard from again (until later)

Dragon… fond of the gypsy outfit and still cuddling the chicken staggered up to a shady grove with a Tavern/Inn tucked nicely in the forest. Inside several husky men, stinking of cheap booze propositioned him/her and made lude comments such as, “Nice beard darling. Give me something to hang on to.” He made a thrusting motion with his hips while at the same time making a gripping motion with his hands. What shall become of our brave cross-dresser now?

Trauma walked into a village and was accosted by several peasants with pitchforks and other nasty looking tools. “‘Ee’s a spy for the Sheriff!” someone cried out. “No ‘ees a witch.” “Burn ‘im! Burn ‘im!”

“No wait! I’m a lost traveller looking for my friends.” Trauma raised his arms and started backing away. Quickly he remembered what had been bothering him throughout the last few hours. Sherwood Forest! Robin Hood! “Wait! I have come to gather an army of cut-throats and brigands to fight Prince John and returned Sherwood to the people.” A slight murmur arose and one peasant answered. “But we already ‘ave Robin Hood doing that. Couldn’t you… like… do somethin’ else?”

“Like what?” trauma was confused.

“Can ya juggle?” someone called out.

“Can ya make funny noises wit’ yuir armpits?”

Looking around Trauma noticed a fence lined with bottles and tin cans.

(How convenient, eh?) Spinning he stood in the old-fashioned cowboy stance. Drawing his Pez dispenser he flicked SpiderMan’s head and spit deadly cherry Pez hitting every target. Cowering and cringing in fear the villagers shied away.

“Now listen here you primitives. This is Zellers’ top o’ the line Pez dispenser! Moulded plastic with hair trigger neck action.” He held it up so everyone could see. “I can knock divot in anyone’s forehead at 20 yards. So don’t fuck with me.” Suddenly they all bowed and kneeled before him. A cry rose up; “Fuck Robin Hood! Hail Trauma Groovy!” they chanted.

Tito parted the underbrush and peered cautiously around the clearing. Still carrying his tools and gymbag, he bolted across the clearing in the old John Belushi-style. Pulling his crowbar he went right to work on the lock, prying it off the framework and then disappeared into the house with smile to loot and pillage. (and if by chance there was an under age little girl in the house…..)

[writer - TRAUMA - Groooooooooovy.]

Blade awoke suddenly to a scuffling sound coming from the corner of his cell.

“Uh who’s there?” “No one!” was the weary reply. “OK”. Looking about the cell, Blade added another scratch to the wall with his shackle. “Wow ten whole minutes in this hell hole”. “Psst”. “Who’s there?” asked Blade more than pleased to know he wasn’t alone. “It’s me.” “Boy that helps.” said Blade. “I not a BOY! I’m Marian. Are you a friend of Robin’s?” asked the female voice. “Who’s Robin” Blade asked overly bored, as he scratched yet another line in the wall. “Well Robin Hood of course you fool.” Finally Blade spotted the origin of the annoying voice. A frizzy haired bag, with less teeth then he had fingers. “Night!” said Blade quickly. Praying the fiend would disappear when he closed his eyes.

Vindicator looked around for some sign of where his companions could be. When he spotted a sign behind him saying, “Companions, and excitement this way”. “Boy that wasn’t easy was it.” said Vindicator overly pleased with himself. After a few minutes of walking in the direction of the arrow he came upon a little house. Walking closer he heard a series of mutterings coming from the pried open door. “Damn nothing here, not even an under aged girl”. Vindicator, knowing the deprived soul. Called out in his best female voice “Is anybody in there?” No sooner did he say these words did Tito spring from the building like a skilled hunter (after three kegs of moonshine) looking for anything to satisfy his needs. Luckily Tito noticed his prey before he striked.

Trauma now showing the people of the little town who’s Boss, strolled into the local Tavern only to notice a shapely women being surrounded by a bunch of drunken farmers, and being the hero he is, and that she had a nice ass. He launched several follies of Pez at the nearby mugs. After this impressive show of skill, the drunkard’s move away. Only to reveal that the lovely assed creature was indeed the crossed dressed Dragon. “Damn” said Trauma. “But nice ass anyways B.”

[writer - Blade?]

Dragon swelled his chest up to look imposing (which is hard to do when you have the imprint of a chicken within your shirt), strolled over to the nearest table…grabbed the glass of one of the patrons and downed it’s contents. He didn’t move, didn’t blink, didn’t even breath for at least 5 mins. The rest of the tavern was laughing knowing that the drink was the hardest stuff that customer usually orders.

Dragon’s mind was racing, what was in this strange tasting Kool-Aid? Do I detect a hint of mint? Oh oh…I think I’m going to sneeze…. ahhh …ahhh… AHH CHOO!!!!

Unbelievably fire erupted forth from his mouth setting the tavern afire and causing mass chaos. People where shouting “Fire Fire!” “Witch Witch!” “Flight 784 now boarding for Chicago!” “Dragon! Dragon!” To which Dragon looked up, alarmed in case there really WAS a Dragon. Seeing the blaze in front of him…he left the town in search of his friends…a few sneezes later and the town was a raving inferno with the threat of the nearby forest catching on fire…. as he was nearing the forest he overheard a farmer talking to another “Nah…nothin’s to fear..that’s SHURE WOOD! It can stand the best of things!”

[writer - DRAGON!!! --twisted enough for ya Trauma?<BG>]

Well, the dragon flew over Dragon and started to burn the forest. Dragon just froze there. Then a fleet of B52 came and dropped H-Bombs over the forest. However, the dragon was prepared with his anti-matter grenades and flung them at the bombers. The bombers were taken completely out by surprise. The H-bombs haven’t reached the ground yet, but the dragon named Al wasn’t afraid. He warped the electro-magnetic field of the earth and shot the bombs into space, where they happened to hit a weather satellite and all over the world voices could be heard saying “What! No weather channel? I’m calling the cable company!”

That’s pretty weird.

[writer - ???]

The entire ruckus created by Dragon’s indigestion did not go unnoticed. Dodge City and the Sheriff have responded. Sending out men to round up the troublemakers and bring an end to Robin Hood and his band of merry men.

In the village, Trauma Groovy awaited the arrival of his companions:

Dragon, finally over the heartburn was lead into the village by several drunken louts who for the entire journey made hooting and catcalls towards him. Offering him the chance to enjoy the company of real men. Upon seeing Trauma sitting on a makeshift thrown surrounded by scantily clad children with giant fans, he quickly ran over. Tenderly rubbing his goosed bottom. The chicken still clutched protectively to his chest.

A rickety old wagon pulled by two mules (Sister Sarah’s mules) was driven by an Monk. Tito, dressed as a holy friar climbed down from the furniture laden wagon and swaggered up to Trauma, his eyes never leaving the little girl with the biggest set of fans.

Shouts echoed through the village, “Its Robin ‘ood! And his band of pansies!” Just then into sight came a group of men in tights. The villagers split aside and let the two groups face off in a skirmish line. Held up by two of Robin’s men, Vindicator seems to still be unconscious and effectively out of the fight.

On one side, Trauma Groovy, Friar Tito and Maid Dragon (and his chicken) stood their ground. On the other, Robin Hood, Little John, Scarlet Will and several other no names, including the comatose Vindicator, opposed them…

[writer - TRAUMA - There... stop your bitchin’.]

…The sun gleaned off of Trauma’s menacing grin as he sized up the competition that had dared challenge him. His left hand dangled at his side as his right twitched, just inches from his Pez dispenser…

“We are here to challenge your claim to the leadership of the people of Sherwood Forest!” Cried Robin.

“Then step into eternity!” replied Trauma, in his cheesiest pseudo-intellectual voice.

Robin fired an arrow at his head, which Trauma narrowly avoided by diving to the ground. He let loose a flurry of Pez, which missed Robin’s head by a hair’s breadth… Unfortunately, they did not miss the head of The Vindicator who had just awaken from his 27-hour nap. 6 Pez pummelled his skull and knocked him (once again) unconscious.

“Oooooh!” cried the ecstatic crowd… “Ahhhhh!”

“Ohhhh!” Said The Vindicator, just before he fell back to the ground.

[writer - The Vindicator - Mia Skullpa!]

… Robin, being the coward he was, decided that the Pez came a little two close for comfort. Shaking his hand menacingly he and his men backed off slowly. Two of them still dragging the sleepy-headed Vindicator. “You haven’t seen the last of us!” Robin cried. And with that he and his band of merry men scattered into the woods. A cheer arose from the peasants. And that evening, a party was called.

As the villagers danced and drank the night away, Trauma, Tito and Dragon held a small discussion about how they were going to rescue the Vindicator and find that damn book and get the Hell outta Dodge.

“Make way. Make way. I have news for Trauma Groovy. It’s from the Sheriff of Dodge City!” Handing him a poster, which read:

“Hear ye! Hear ye!

Tomorrow, the fair city of Dodge will hold a quick draw tourney. And all men of infamous reknown are welcome. The prize will be a free seasons pass at the future Sherwood Fun Park. Come one come all.”

Sheriff of Dodge City.

“Gadzooks!” Dragon cried. “Me thinks it be a trap.”

Tito looked at the gypsy clothed Dragon and shook his head, “You been hugging that chicken too long.”

“Nonetheless.” Trauma stuck out his chest in the typical cheese-fashion.

“Trap or no trap. I must go and face this grave challenge.”

“‘Tis a days ride to Dodge, me lord.” One peasant interrupted. Trauma turned toward him and punched him, “How dare you eavesdrop on our conversation. Spy!” Several other villagers ran over at the cry from the Trauma. Seeing a man sprawled out on the ground they asked what was the matter. “He is a spy for the Sheriff. Burn him!”

“No no! You got the wrong guy.” The poor soul cried. But alas it was too late. The villagers were a volatile group with pent up frustrations and a major fetish for burnings. “Burn ‘im! Burn ‘im!”

“Wot? Is he a witch?” one peasant called out.

“Naa. He’s a spy.” The one carrying his thrashing body said.

“I bet he’s a witch too.” An old hag called out.

Silence fell on the crowd as they stared at the old woman. “I bet she’s a witch too!” Someone called.

“Burn ‘er! Burn ‘er!” The unruly mob grabbed her as well.

As the stake burnings began. Trauma, Tito, Dragon and the chicken slipped quietly out of the village and rode on to Dodge City.

[writer - TRAUMA - Groovy.]

“Move aside! Move aside!” Trauma shouted at the swarms of turbin wearing salesmen. One particularly skinny one with hundreds of wrinkles and only three teeth and smelled of that hot mutton curry held up a chicken in front of Trauma’s path holding up the line as the rest of the group carried out the pilfered goods. “Thanks.” Trauma growled grabbing the poultry and shoving the man several feet back into the crowd but his face.

Peeling out of town, swerving to avoid the cows they started for their next location.

“Hey Dragon. Pass me up a slurpie.” Vindicator asked from the passenger seat.

“What Flavour?”

“Blueberry. I love it when my tongue turns blue.”

Dragon turned the lever on the slurpie machine, which was fastened securely on the trunk of the convertible, and added the blueberry flavouring, then passed it up.

“Hey Trauma. Where’s that chicken?” Blade asked remembering about chicken.

Pointing forward as he drove, everyone followed his finger. There, tied to the hood where the hood ornament was, was the chicken. Feathers whipping back the wind raced by its beak

The sun was setting as they drove through the Rocky mountains looking for the next hit. “Aaaaaaahhhhhhhh.” Vindicator said as he stuck out his tongue to show everyone the neat colouration…

[writer - TRAUMA - Can we put this on file? And then DL for ourselves???]

…He instantly realized the folly of this action because when he closed his mouth, the crunching noise and sour taste gave him the impression that several winged insects had flown into his mouth. Dragon saying “Dude, several winged insects just flew into you mouth” did nothing to allay his fears. The next sound that could be heard (for miles around) was that of low glutteral retching, followed by Trauma complaining about the stain on his pants.

As they drove up the steep incline of the Rocky Mountains, they came across a castle. Perched atop a rather high tower was a soldier keeping watch. As they neared the castle, the soldier began to call out to them.

“Go away you silly Kniggits, we already have a slurpie machine”

“WHAT?” cried the intrepid explorers/thieves.

“I blow my nose at you! I fart in your general direction, now go away or I will taunt you a second time!”

Growing weary of his tired rhetoric, Trauma shot him between the eyes with a Pez. The soldier plummeted to his death. Unfortunately, they were so preoccupied with the French Soldier, they were totally oblivious to the fact that they, they slurpie machine and the car which carried them, had just driven over a Kurt (cliff)

[writer - The Vindicator - What? Me, worry?]

As our Hero’s/Thieves plummet to their deaths, Vindicator remembers the emergency red button. As he opens the emergency panel he notices that only 37 of the fifty buttons are painted red. Which one is it asks Blade. At this moment Dragon passes out due to the extreme stupidity of this situation. Trauma quickly states “It’s this button I’m sure!” Vindicator replies “When were falling off a Kurt (cliff) I’m the boss. So it’s this button (pointing to the same one)”. Blade, fed up with the situation at hand, closes his eyes, and pressed a blue button. “NOT THE BLUE BUTTON!” cried Vindicator and Trauma.

P.S. To any confused individual, the reason the conversation is still taking place is because of the extreme long drop, and that the laws of the known universe do not apply in anyway to the above story.

“So that’s what the blue button does.” replies Vindicator. “Who cares.” cries Trauma. Again Blade press another random button. Suddenly the car stops in mid-air. The chicken hood ornament flies off the hood, landing on the ground with a crunch. “Must be KFC.” says BLADE. “Your a genius” says Trauma. “What was it the air brakes” asks Vindicator. “Nope! Looks like we’re outta gas.” replies Blade. “Then what did you press?” asks Dragon groggily. Pulling out the manual, Vindicator said, “He just pushed the … Emergency gas TANK!”

“AHHHHHHHHHHH” screams all.

… It’s a good thing that they were only 5 feet above the ground when Dragon refuelled the car otherwise this story may well have been cut short (severely!).

There was a small problem, however. When the car did hit the ground, it landed with its tires in the air and our intrepid heroes where trapped in the small space between the shag carpet of the Eldoradro and the dry, cracked hardpan of the canyon floor.

This in itself was not so bad, but then somebody farted…

[writer - The Vindicator]

Kicking frantically at the doors everyone was desperate to escape the gas chamber inside the overturned car. Finally giving way everyone scrambled out and inhaled the fresh air. “Holy Shit!” Trauma exclaimed, “What the fuck did you eat?” Everyone looked over at Dragon. “What?” he said, “The Mutton curry was good.”

Looking around, the four adventurers needed a plan. “We need a plan.” Blade said. “Wait! I have a cunning plan… “ Trauma smiled. They huddled to discuss the plan. All the while the chicken sat on the nearby rocks… doing cute little chicken things with its head.

[writer - TRAUMA - Edmund BlackAdder... Groovy.]

The plan was this… They would dress up like a band of Gypsy’s and try to hitch a ride into town.

Trauma dressed up as the Gypsy King, The Vindicator as his eldest son. Blade was impersonating the uncle, while Dragon, the chicken stuffed up his shirt, impersonated Trauma’s pregnant (bearded) wife.

They stood by the side of the road and awaited any passing vehicle.

An hour passed.

Two.

Three.

Just when they were about to give up, nothing continued to happen and Trauma became annoyed.

“I’m annoyed.”, he said.

“This chicken is pecking at my navel”, complained Dragon… “Let’s just cook it up and eat it!”

“We can’t!” Said The Vindicator… “We don’t have any white wine!”

They sat on the rocks and considered their predicament.

They didn’t even notice the jet-black Mustang convertible drive by them.

Nor did they notice the driver.

They didn’t have a clue about the rose tattoo.

But The Vindicator and Trauma at least knew where it was located!

[writer - The Vindicator]

Walking miles down the road the “Gypsies” flashed the thumb to every passing vehicle. Every time the response was the same, they would flip them the bird and attempt to serve into them. Especially the big transports. Wondering why the hostility Trauma and Vindicator (quite by accident) noticed Dragon as the next car was passing. Instead of sticking up a thumb, he was flipping everyone the bird! Well that explained it.

Half an hour later and several hundred tries by Trauma, Vindicator and Blade they finally taught him which finger to use. Hard concentration and mental will power played its role in establishing fine motor control over individual fingers. Winding its why towards them on the forested road here in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains in Colorado.

The sun reflected off the dusty black Pontiac and the rusty muffler half dragged on the road and rumbled. Pulling up beside them he rolled down the passenger side window. “Hey man. Need a ride?”

At the same time Trauma and Vindicator yelled out, “Tito!” And everyone piled into the car. Vindicator was sitting in the front seat after telling Trauma to wait while he got in first so he could get into the backseat. (It was a 4 door)

[writer - TRAUMA - Groovy.]

“You know this guy?” Asked Dragon

“Yes indeed”, said The Vindicator… “But he and Trauma have known each other longer.”

“Where’re you guys headed?” Asked Tito, sounding extremely macho.

“Up into the mountains.”, answered Trauma.

“Cool! I can drop you off on my way to the Nazi Youth of North America meeting… It’s right across the road from the Serbian Proletariat!”

“Well that’s convenient as all hell, ain’t it?”, The Vindicator muttered.

As they ambled up the winding mountain roads, they suddenly came to a screeching halt. Everyone jumped, startled and fearing that they would plummet to their deaths.

“What happened?” Asked Blaze.

Tito pointed to the roadside further up the mountain and said:

“Toothpick tree!” and pulled out a small (nearly empty) container of toothpicks.

He took the soggy, old one from his mouth and flicked in into Trauma’s right eye, for old time’s sake.

[writer - Vindicator]

As the day dragged on, the old vespa sputtered through the winding woodland highway. Occasionally Tito would try and run down any animal that ventured onto the road. Hours past without a person or building in sight. As dusk drew near they finally happened upon an old mansion off some dirt road. “Hey lets check that out and see if they got a phone.” Vindicator said. “Yeah. And maybe they’ll have some cash and TVs and shit too.” Tito said appraising the potential of the house while he wiggled another soggy toothpick in his mouth.

The house was abandoned, dusty and old. Light shone through the cracks in the roof and walls and through boarded up paneless windows. A rickety set of stairs led up to the mansions upper level while archways and doors gaped off into the rest of the house. Standing in the open doorway Trauma had just kicked open he looked around at the rest of the group. “Hey.” he noticed someone missing. “Where’s Tito?” The sound of a trunk slamming shut turned their attention to Tito swaggering up the walk with a gym bag laden with bolt cutters, crowbar and a flashlight. Seeing the expression on their faces he shrugged, “What?” And pushed past Trauma into the house and disappeared into the interconnecting rooms.

“HEY! Guys! Come here quick!” Vindicator called out. He was in the Library thumbing through a thick, ancient tome.

“What’s that?” Trauma asked.

“The cover reads: ‘The Adventurers Guide to Time Travel and Other Silly Things.’ Blade answered. Trauma looked confused for a moment longer and than shook his head again (much like a little child would), “No. I mean WHAT is THAT?”

Vindicator rolled his eyes and answered, “It’s a book.”

“Oh.” Trauma said, turning back to the window. “Oooooo. Butterfly.”

Reading through the first incantation (unaware of course) Vindicator inadvertently opened a temporal rift. Unfortunately he did not pronounce the words exactly.

“If these words are not spoken correctly the Rift will go screwy and all who enter it will be lost in a hodgepodge world of dimensional mayhem.”

“Shit.” Vindicator muttered suddenly objects in the room began swirling and were starting to surrender to the pull of the Rift Vortex. Vindicator still gripping the book was sucked in first, next went Blade and then Dragon, who was still clutching the chicken for dear life. Trauma and Tito followed.

Falling endlessly through blackness Trauma looked at Tito, and Tito back at Trauma. “This seems familiar, doesn’t it?” Trauma asked. “Oh shit. Not again.” Tito frowned.

[writer - TRAUMA - To be continued....]

The woman with the Rose Tattoo flew out of Trauma’s arms into that of The Vindicator, to which the Woman With the Rose Tattoo said “oooh!” and to which The Vindicator replied “Groovy!” to which the semi-conscious Trauma replied “Hey…thazz my line!”

The Vindicator wiped out his blindfold, put it on the Woman With the Rose Tattoo. The Amazons stopped, dropped their spears in amazement that this ‘man’ had made a woman disappear! “Magic!” some shouted, “Devil!” another shouted. The Amazon’s reached for their spears at the thought that the ‘Devil’ was in their midst! Calmly Vindicator pulled out his handy-dandy Pez Dispenser™ and let fly a Pizza Flavoured Pez, right into the screaming mouth of the leader, who immediately shut up. Stunned, she ran her tongue over the pizza-flavoured Pez. Then her eyes open wide! The prophecy has come true! In her own tongue she shouted:

“Wallam balla, klinga, Moo Pizza!!”

Which roughly translated to “It’s the Pizza Pez man! Our Goddess’ consort, come to breed with only the chosen of our tribe! We must prepare a feast and games to prove our worth to breed with this man!!! Take the other man, cook him and stuff him with kumquats and rice!”

Vindicator stated” The woman is to be my personal slave! Let the feast begin!!!”

[writer - DRAGON!!! Boy did I start something! <G>]

“Lets lock him in the full capacity tool shed.” Was the big Amazon’s suggestion. “Yeah, what could he POSSIBLY do in there?” Was the reply of the second guard escorting him to the shed. Tossing him in and locking the padlock they walked away laughing and in anticipation of a meal.

Inside the shed Trauma looked around. There was everything everyone ever lost in here. He avoided the back corner where a mountain of lost left socks were piled. “I have to get out of here.” he thought out loud (in that big white bubble above his head) Its time to get to work I only have a few minutes before they come back for me.” With that he pulled from his pocket a Swiss army knife and from out of nowhere this cool theme song began playing.

Looking around outside, the Amazons couldn’t figure out where the music was coming from either.

Suddenly, the traitorous Vindicator yelled. “It’s the McGyver theme! Quick! To the shed or we’re all doomed!” A mad rush of huge women with their tits bouncing thundered over the roar of the engine revving in the shed. (Where they also stored the Cadillac Eldorado) SMASH! The shed door exploded in a flurry of slivers and out came roaring a modified 1967 Cadillac Eldorado. Hot Pink! With whale skin hubcaps and all leather cow interior and big brown baby seal eyes for headlights!

The breakout was a success! Passing through the crowd of Amazons, shredding them with whirling garden utensil Trauma pulled down the goggles of his 1917 leather flying helmet and tossed the white scarf over his shoulder. Driving away he screamed out his final words while shaking his fist menacingly behind him. “You haven’t seen the last of me!” With that he disappeared over the hill and soon faded into the horizon…

[writer - TRAUMA - Phew! That was close...thank good for 6 seasons of MacGyver!]

And so, The Vindicator was stranded… He had not really wanted the Amazons to eat his friend (unless he specifically asked for such a favour)… Locking him in the shed was his plan to keep Trauma alive. And so, now he didn’t have just the Amazons to contend with, but he had to convince Trauma that he hadn’t betrayed him.

But for now he would have to take some time to think, which is a difficult thing to do when surrounded by several hundred topless Amazons.

The first thing that had to be done was to get back to the continuity of the story that Dragon utterly destroyed by giving The Vindicator a Pez dispenser. So The Vindicator threw it into the bushes… er, the trees, I mean.

Second, some means of escape… The Vindicator looked in his Bag o’ Goodies to see what he could come up with… There were several dirty magazines, some Binaca, his Peril-Sensitive shades, a towel, and inflatable helicopter, a pack of gum, a… wait a sec! “I think I may have found something useful!”, said The Vindicator…

He pulled out the Binaca and freshened up his breath.

“I still feel the same.” he said.

“Looks like we’re stuck after all. Maybe someone will rescue us.”

The woman with the rose tattoo looked upset.

The Vindicator sensed that something was bothering her. “Is something bothering you?”, he asked in a semi-sincere fashion.

“I’m afraid.” she said.

“Wanna fuck?”

[writer - The Vindicator]

In the morning he looked at her as she slept on the makeshift bamboo mattress. Propping his hand under his head he watched her for a long time, under the shafts of morning sunlight slicing through the cracks in the hut. After a long time he rolled over sat on the edge of the mattress, took a deep breath and said… “She was right, I don’t respect her.”

Trauma sat on the hillside overlooking the village, he had to save his friend Vindicator was the clutches of those big tittied Amazons. And once that was done, they would seek out and hunt down the evil mastermind behind all this weirdness… Dragon. Vindicator with a Pez dispenser… HA! Puh-leezze.

Suddenly a plan hit him, knocking him back over the convertible’s backseat and sliding down the trunk where he landed on his head on the ground. “I have a cunning plan.” he said to himself….

[writer - TRAUMA - To be continued...]

…. Back at the Amazon tribe, The Vindicator was pondering how he was going to get out of the camp unnoticed. He was pacing back and forth when he suddenly tripped on his gym bag. It was at this point that an idea suddenly sprang to his mind and he was so surprised that he entirely forgot to hit the ground, and so, didn’t. He was hovering above the ground a mere 2 inches. He decided that this was not at all a respectable altitude and began, slowly, to ascend. He was now several feet up (very close to the ceiling actually) and he called to the woman with the rose tattoo…

“Pssst!”

Silence.

“Pssssssst!”

More silence.

“HEY!”

The w.w.t.r.t. started and sleepily rubbed her eyes (having no balls to scratch) and looked for The Vindicator. He was gone.

“Hey!”, he said again.

She looked up and immediately passed out.

He decided that she was dead weight, so he swooped to get his gym bag and crashed through the ceiling.

It was then that Trauma, the Cadillac and a large cloud of dust entered the camp. Trauma did indeed have a cunning plan. The best escape plan ever devised by man. Unfortunately, a large portion of the plan was dependent on The Vindicator’s proximity to the ground. His current defiance of gravity would not do. Not wanting to seem the fool, Trauma shot him down with a Pez….

[writer - The Vindicator]

… swinging around, the Cadillac kicked up huge clouds of dust obscuring the Amazon’s view. Vindicator landed in the back seat, and the gym bag on top of him.

“Where’s the w.w.t.r.t?” Trauma asked.

“Couldn’t get her and the gym bag.” answered Vindicator.

After a moments silence, Trauma spoke up, “Didn’t respect her this morning, huh?”

“Nope.” was the solemn reply.

Peeling out of the village they drove through the scrub and rough until finally the miles of dirt, dust and rock ended in a narrow stretch of blacktop. Stopping for a moment they tried to decide where they were gonna go.

“South. To Mexico.” Trauma initiated, “Or… North. To Colorado?”

Vindicator finished.

“North… lets rob a bank and then head south to Mexico.” Trauma said.

“Ok.” was the eager reply.

Twenty miles up the desert highway, they saw a man with a goatee, a backpack and a cardboard sign saying, “Ohio or bust”.

“Need a ride?” Asked Vindicator.

“Where ya headed?” Asked Dragon.

“Colorado. We’re bank robbers you know.” smiled Trauma. Vindicator elbowed him harshly in the ribs and muttered under his breath, “Stupid. Don’t have to tell everyone you know.”

“Oh… don’t worry about me.” Dragon interjected, “I was conveniently placed here so I could join you in the story.”

Another long pause, “Okay then, lets go” Vindicator shrugged.

[writer - TRAUMA - Groovy.]

“Blade’s the name.” said the new arrival to the group. “Do you mind if we hit a few convenient seven eleven’s.” With this remark he pulled out a detailed map of all the Seven Eleven’s along the way. “You didn’t happen to see my sister did you? She’s got a rose tattoo.”…

Hopefully to be continued or cancelled.

[writer - Blade]

Driving at a steady 75 miles per hour (since we are in the States), Trauma leaned back with his mirrored sunglasses and Harley Davidson headband as the wind rushed through his hair. The sound of George Thorogood blasting “Born to be Wild” from the single remaining speaker brought a carefree smile to his face. His eyes closed and hands propped behind his head with his feet on the dash…

“Hey stupid!” Vindicator yelled, startling Trauma from his daydream.

“You’re driving.” With that he cuffed him on the back of the head.

Turning back to the map… Dragon, Vindicator and Blade searched for their first target…. a convenience store in the East Indian district of Colorado, given the name “Little India”.

[writer - TRAUMA - Ooooo this should be funny... eh Vind?]

As they bedraggled group of would-be thieves ambled up the embankment above the town in an equally bedraggled car, they noticed something about the town, which was altogether too weird to be ignored, and so, they didn’t try. Cows. There were cows scattered all around the road. As they entered the town 6 million turbans ran up to the car carrying chickens, carpets, mangos and some really hot mutton curry.

They managed to get by the swarm of swami’s and parked outside of the only convenience store for miles. Behind the counter sat yet another odd sight. An American, who could actually speak english!

This was too much to handle and when they saw that the slurpie machine was working, Trauma’s jaw hit the floor.

“Gimme the cash, now!” yelled The Vindicator and threw his gymbag to the irony behind the counter.

“Dragon, help Trauma. Blade! Get me some Twinkies and a porno mag!”

Before they left the store, Trauma grabbed a T-Shirt for his dad… It said “My son robbed a convenience store in little India after carving a path through a swarm of Indian peddlers and all I got was this lousy T-Shirt!”

[writer - The Vindicator - A who needs ya!]