Wednesday, January 23, 2008


Shamus Flanagan was patrolling the streets of Washington, but only halfheartedly. Since Sanchez had died while pursuing Josiah, Shamus was now the last remaining member of the NBA; and as John hadn’t contacted him in a very long time, he was certain Josiah had killed him too.

“I hate to admit it, but I’m fairly sure the laddie’s dead,” lamented Shamus, sighing. “I guess I’ll have to stop Josiah Malum by meself.”

Shamus continued walking until he passed an electronics store, with a TV in its window. Shamus stopped in his tracks when he saw what was on the screen: the unmistakable visage of Josiah Malum himself. He was making an announcement.

“Attention America. I am Josiah Malum, your Secretary of Evil, and I have called this press conference in order to inform you all that my evil plan is finally going to commence. It is by far the most evil plan ever contrived. I mean, I have come up with some pretty evil plans before, but this one is even more evil than those were. It’s really, really evil. If you want to get an idea of how evil it is, think of the most evil thing you can. Then multiply it by three. That’s about half as evil as my plan is. Rest assured, the evil will permeate every facet of your lives. There will be no escape from the merciless onslaught of evil about to be unleashed upon this fair country. God bless America.”

“Alas, my prediction was right!” exclaimed Shamus, falling to his knees. “If Josiah’s going on with his evil plan, John must be dead. Oh, ‘tis a terrible tragedy!”

Shamus, fighting back tears, looked directly into the cold, powerful eyes of Josiah Malum’s TV image. He knew what he had to do.

“I give up,” he said, picking himself up and walking away.

After a few more miles he reached his home. As it turns out, when Josiah’s ninjas had blown up his restaurant, they’d actually been doing him quite a favor, as it had been insured for a cool two million dollars. Shamus had taken the money and bought a mansion, mansion ownership having long been one of his lifelong dreams.

Shamus entered, threw his various weapons onto the counter, poured himself a drink and retired to his sitting room, prepared to live out the rest of his life in wealthy obscurity. But sitting down in his solid gold chair, drinking his solid gold wine, Shamus had a change of heart.

“No!” he said. “I need to stop Josiah, hopeless or not. It’s what John would’ve wanted, after all.”

He stood up and, stumbling (golden wine is very potent), walked to the door. When he opened it, however, he saw someone he really wasn’t expecting: Josiah Malum.

“Hello, Shamus,” said the Secretary. “I’ll bet you weren’t expecting me!”

“What? Who are you? Where am I?” asked a very drunk Shamus.

“Don’t play coy with me, you fool,” ordered Josiah. “You know who I am and you know why I’m here: to kill you. With you out of the way, my evil plan will be able to proceed unhindered, since I’ve brilliantly managed to keep John and Mischa preoccupied.”

Suddenly Shamus snapped back into cognizance. John wasn’t dead!

“Are you tellin’ me that Johnny boy ain’t dead, laddie?” he asked. “That’s great news!”

Shamus punched Josiah in the face, giving him a concussion.

“I’d kill ya, but that’d be a wee bit anti-climactic, wouldn’t it? No, I’m not that kind of person. But that floggin’ to your noggin should keep you out of it for…oh, about a year,” said Shamus.
“Now I’m gonna go find John! We got a fair amount of plannin’ to do, that’s for sure.”

Happily, Shamus leapt into the air and flew away.

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