The Ultimate Blog

CHAPTER EIGHTY TWO, THE LAST ONE

2008-04-20T08:01:00.000-07:00

Well, it's been fun, but it looks like I've reached the end of The Ultimate Book. Again, I wrote this a couple of years ago and really only posted it incrementally to be a dick, but I hope those readers who've read it enjoyed reading it. I mean, I enjoy reading it, so it must be pretty awesome.

***

LXXXII
John, Bill, and Jeannine were all sitting around their dinner table one Tuesday night in August. The wedding was five years ago. Nothing of importance had happened since, and it was very unlikely that anything ever would again.

“Pass the potatoes, please,” requested Jeannine.

“Here you are, dear,” replied John.

“So guess what happened to me today,” said Bill. “You’ll never guess. It’s the most amazing thing ever. I’ll give you three guesses.”

John smiled, “Did you find another penny?”

“How’d you know?” asked Bill, slightly put off.

“I’m John; I know everything!” replied John. “And you’ve said the same thing at the same time for three days now.”

They all burst into hearty laughter. Bill was now more or less like a son to John and Jeannine, so they had thus far decided not to have a child of their own; likewise, Bill had decided not to marry anyone, but his reason was simpler: no woman could tolerate him.

John’s house had been rebuilt, right after the wedding. Well, it wasn’t so much rebuilt as replaced. John had decreed that his palace in Denmark be airlifted overseas and placed right where his old house was. It was the finest house on the block, not least of all because of their assiduous groundskeeper, Pompetus.

Everyone envied the Morgans, with their wealth and power and perfect marriage. As Jeannine often pointed out, marrying John had really been quite convenient, since having been married to his uncle Claudius already, she didn’t need to change her last name again.

From time to time, Mischa and Cyprus came to visit. John was a little apprehensive about letting Cyprus in, what with her boundless evil; but she tried to keep it in check whenever she was there, and their visits were always pleasant.

Mischa, as he had planned to do, had found Rupert in Rome right after the battle, and he too was a frequent guest at the Morgan dinner table, sometimes alone, sometimes with Mischa and Cyprus. A stationary life never really suited him though, and he continued to work as a mercenary.

“You know John, one thing always bugged me about that whole Josiah Malum business,” said Jeannine, setting the potatoes down.

“It was heads up too. That’s better luck than heads down,” continued Bill.

“What is it, Jeannine?” asked John. “You’re still thinking about that thing? That fool will never bother us again, you know; there’s no use worrying about it. It’s all in the past, and we have our whole future ahead of us.”

“True, but…well…this one thing just nags at me. We spent all that time fighting his evil plan, but what was his evil plan? He never came out and said it, and you never told me either,” said Jeannine. “I mean, it’s really frustrating to work so hard against something without fully knowing what it even is.”

“Yeah, she’s right!” said Bill. “You promised you’d tell me too, but you never did. What was Josiah’s plan, John?”

“Oh, I never told you two?” said John. “He was going to buy out Blockbuster and bring back late fees.”

“Ah. That would’ve sucked,” said Bill, nodding.

John looked around the table, at his loving wife and best friend, then shook his head happily and smiled.

“Tuesdays...”

It was John’s favorite day of the week.

The End

...or...is it?

The Ultimate Penultimate Chapter: CHAPTER EIGHTY ONE

2008-04-18T11:18:00.000-07:00

LXXXI
He was wrong, however; that was the last any of them saw of Josiah Malum, and he would never get a chance to exact vengeance on anyone. He was finished.

After the battle, Magentabeard, Bjorn and Ron bade John, Bill and Mischa fond farewells.

“Yarrgh, unlike the last time we parted, this time I doubt we’ll meet again, mateys. Take care!”

They all walked off into the sunset, either to look for a new ship or for a replacement for Plank Walkin’ Pete. Probably a ship. They needed to hide on the seas from now on, because they knew that Hades would come looking for them. They were supposed to be dead, after all.

Cyprus took great joy in dismantling the titanium skeleton of Josiah bone by bone, delighting in his piteous, petulant protests. She really was the most evil person alive. The operation which had replaced his bones with metal had also somehow given Josiah the ability to continue living as long as his head remained intact, so Cyprus kept it that way – she brought it back with her, as a souvenir, and kept it in a jar.

Josiah didn’t mind, figuring that at least now he was closer to Cyprus than he would’ve been otherwise. He continued making evil plans, but without a body, or freedom, he would never be able to enact them. I’d feel sorry for him if he weren’t such an asshole.

John (very reluctantly) thanked Mischa for helping, however insignificant his part had been. There was obviously still animosity between them, what with one’s being responsible for the other’s death; but they were adults, and they put it behind them, intent on rekindling their once decent friendship.

“So where are you off to now, Mischa?” asked John.

“Oh, I will probably go back to Rome and look for Rupert. I think he is still knocked out in the Coliseum,” said Mischa. “He is probably wondering what happened.”

And Mischa was gone.

Time passed, as it usually does. John managed to get his job back somehow, despite his horrible temperament; and so did Bill, despite his terrible incompetence. The two maintained a solid friendship – after a while, Bill’s idiocy began to grow on John, and they became roommates. Bill’s mother was very amenable to the move, as she had grown quite fond of Saul, whom she found adorable.

Jeannine and John got married. If her being responsible for his resurrection weren’t enough, her sticking by his side throughout the fierce battle with Josiah convinced John that Jeannine was uncannily devoted to him, against all logic. He’d never find another woman like her. They started dating shortly after the defeat of Josiah Malum, and a year later, they were engaged.

The wedding was a glorious affair, and friends of both John and Jeannine came from all over the world. Mischa attended, with Cyprus (whom he’d inexplicably married); she’d even brought Josiah’s head along. Bill was John’s best man, and he ate the whole wedding cake; he was grounded for a month, by John, who was acting in loco parentis.

And as for me, Flapjack the Ghost? Well, let’s just say I was so bored that I decided to write a book. I give a whole new meaning to the term ghostwriter, don’t I? Oh, that’s good!

Sorry.

CHAPTER EIGHTY

2008-04-14T12:20:00.000-07:00

LXXX
Bill raised his hand and started jumping up and down, his desire to be the center of attention overriding his desire not to die.

“Me! Me! Pick me!” he said.

“Suit yourself,” said Josiah, now rushing toward Bill.

“No!” cried John, thinking quickly and tackling Josiah before he could get there. “Stay away from my friend, you monster!”

The two men struggled on the ground for a while. Despite his greatly augmented power, Josiah couldn’t seem to overcome John, who was fighting furiously for the life of his – wait a minute, did he say friend? Wow. His friend!

The fact that Jeannine was shouting encouragement might also have contributed to John’s extra strength, though probably not. Effects like that are often vastly overrated.

“If any of you guys have any ideas, now would be a great time to use them!” called John, desperately trying to keep Josiah pinned down.

“I’m picking up something with my psychic powers,” said Cyprus. “I know where we can find a magnet big enough to stop Josiah! But there’s no way we’ll be able to get there fast enough. Unless…”

“I’ve got it, Comrade!” yelled Mischa. “We’ll take Josiah’s helicopter.”

“Great idea!” agreed Cyprus. “I killed the pilot on my way in, just because. Come on!”

Mischa and Cyprus ran to Josiah’s helicopter, which was parked outside. They got in and hurried to where Cyprus’s clairvoyance had detected the magnet.

“I only hope we get there fast enough, Comrade!”

“We will, Mischa. I’m sure of it.”

Meanwhile, Bjorn and Ron had joined John in his quarrel against Josiah, and the three together managed to keep Josiah down. Magentabeard walked up to him, gun in hand, and prepared to fire another bullet right into the secretary’s face.

“It won’t work, Magentabeard!” yelled John. “His entire body is titanium; nothing can penetrate it.”

“Yarrgghh, I know what I’m doing, matey!” said Magentabeard, firing the gun.

The bullet hit Josiah in his left eye, blinding him. In his left eye.

“My left eye!” wailed Josiah, in excruciating pain. “That was my favorite eye! God dammit, I hate pirates!”

“If you’ll just hold still, I’ll shoot out the other, matey. There’s nothing like symmetry when it comes to blindness,” said Magentabeard, aiming his pistol once more.

“No thanks,” said Josiah, throwing Bjorn, Ron and John off him at once in a gigantic burst of strength. “I’d rather just kill you.”

He got to his feet again but tripped over Bill, who had decided to take a nap on the ground. Thus stunned, he was vulnerable to another assault from John and the remaining pirates.

They fought back and forth for nearly ten minutes, until Mischa and Cyprus returned, carrying the giant magnet. Where they’d obtained it was a mystery. The battle ended; Josiah was frozen. He had been paralyzed by the magnet.

“We did it!” cried Mischa. “We defeated Josiah!”

“We? Mischa, you’re the only one here who didn’t do anything,” said John. “You just went with Cyprus, for no reason at all. You should’ve been here helping us fight.”

“Oh, well when you put it that way, I guess my part in the whole quarrel was rather insignificant. But nonetheless, Josiah is defeated!” said Mischa.

“Damn right he is,” said Cyprus. “Let that be a lesson to you: never think about getting revenge on me! Because I’ll know, because I’m psychic.”

“I may not be able to move, but that doesn’t mean I’m finished. Oh no…you haven’t seen the last of Josiah Malum! I’ll be back, and then I’ll get my vengeance on all of you!”

CHAPTER SEVENTY NINE

2008-04-12T09:25:00.000-07:00

LXXIX
No, really. Hades, upon finding out that Mischa was, if anything, a worse assistant than Saul, let him go. Having no friends or family, he simply wandered around aimlessly until he saw a house in ruins. Moving closer, he realized that there was, in fact, an epic battle occurring: a battle between his former friend and his former boss.

“Mischa!” cried Josiah. “Thank goodness you’re here. Help me defeat these fools. Then get my car washed, and pick me up dinner.”

When Mischa answered, he wasn’t trembling.

“No, Mr. Malum. I quit,” he declared. “I’ve decided to take control of my own life. This means not taking orders from you anymore.”

“Dammit Mischa, you can’t quit! I own you!” said Josiah, clearly panicking now that the odds continued to pile against him.

“You do not own me anymore. Oh, hello, Cyprus,” said Mischa, noticing his should-be wife for the first time. “Hey, are we getting married or what?”

“No. We’re teaming up to take down Josiah,” replied Cyprus, not taking her eyes off the Secretary.

“Oh, well that sounds good too. Hello Comrades!” he said, waving to John and Bill.

“Yes, hi, Mischa,” replied John. “All right then. All four of us will attack him at once; there’s no way he can stop that many people.”

“Don’t be so sure of yourself, mailman,” spat Josiah. “I didn’t become Secretary of Evil by not being able to fight four people at once, you know.”

“Perhaps you can fight four, Mr. Malum. But can you fight…eight?”

“Yes,” said Josiah. “Yes, I can fight eight.”

“Oh,” said Mischa. “Well, there are eight now.”

Indeed there were. The four-on-one battle was just about to begin, when who should appear but Magentabeard, along with the entire crew of The Pirate Ship! They were back from their adventures and ready for action, ready to come to the aid of their friend John.

“Arrggh, mateys!” yelled Magentabeard. “How be ye?”

“How did you guys get here?” asked John. "Not that I don't appreciate the help, but to be honest, I've sort of forgotten all about you."

“Yarr, a few hours ago we crashed into an iceberg and died, but on our way down to the Underworld we met up with Mischa here, and he told us that you all might need some help!” said Magentabeard. “Now, who’s the scurvy cur we need to teach a lesson?”

“The man made of metal, Comrade,” said Mischa.

The intensity of the battle with John had stripped some of Josiah’s flesh off; patches of his metal skeleton were now clearly visible.

“All you fools do is talk, talk, talk. I don’t care if there are four, eight, or a million of you; I won’t rest until you’re all dead! Then my evil plan shall commence, unchecked by you scum!” proclaimed Josiah. “Now die!”

He charged forward, directly at Ron Goldstein. Ron dodged and Josiah ran into what remained of one of John’s walls; then Magentabeard took out his pistol and fired off a shot, which did no damage thanks to Josiah’s metal bones.

“Arrgh, his bones are as dense as hardtack, mateys, and not nearly as delicious!” said Mischa. “We’ll have to find another way to kill him!”

“I know the way,” said John. “Magnetism.”

“Oh,” said Plank Walkin’ Pete. “I can control magnetism.”

“Yarrr, you can?” exclaimed Magentabeard. “Why didn’t you say so, you moron?!”

“You never asked. Sorry.”

Pete focused intently on Josiah, attempting to use his powers of magnetism to tear the man apart. Unfortunately, nothing at all happened.

“Oh. Guess I forgot how. Sorry.”

Josiah killed Pete, then turned to the rest of them.

“Who’s next?”

CHAPTER SEVENTY EIGHT

2008-04-11T10:26:00.000-07:00

LXXVIII
When they arrived at John’s house, they found it in ruins. The battle between John and Josiah had grown fiercer and fiercer, demolishing the building in the process; but both combatants were still going at it.

Josiah fired five bullets, exhausting his ammunition, but all of them were deflected by John’s shield. John followed up with a jab from his sword, which hit Josiah square in the chest but was stopped by his metal sternum.

“You’re a better fighter than I expected, Mr. Morgan,” said Josiah. “But I am the Secretary of Evil, and I have more than a few tricks up my sleeve.”

Josiah jumped backward and slowly, calmly, took the cigarette from his mouth. He dropped it to the ground, extinguishing it with his foot after it hit.

He took his gun and tossed it away, then assumed a battle ready stance, motioning for John to attack. John held his weapons ready, not daring to make the first move – he knew Josiah was planning something.

What he wasn’t planning for, however, was Bill, who ran into the house and stood right between Josiah and John.

“Hi guys! Playing war? Can I play? Just don’t hit me, cause I bruise easily,” he said. “Bruises hurt.”

“Get out of the way, Bill! You don’t belong here; this is a serious battle!” yelled John.

Josiah took advantage of John’s temporary distraction, leaping clear over Bill and dashing forward, catching John off his guard. Josiah tackled John to the ground, knocking the wind out of him and forcing him to drop his weapons. The Secretary of Evil raised his fist above his head, preparing to finish the mailman off with one fatal blow.

“That looks fun! Wee!” said Bill, jumping into Josiah and knocking him off of John.

“Get off of me, you insufferable clod!” shouted Josiah, tossing Bill away as easily as if he were a rag doll of slightly below average intelligence.

Josiah leapt up again, ready to pounce on whoever moved first. But it wasn’t John, or Bill, as he was expecting – it was Jeannine. And she was grinning.

“What are you grinning about, you idiot woman?” asked Josiah. “I’ve knocked both of them to the ground, neither of them is armed, and it’s only a matter of time before I finish them off.”

“Look behind you, Malum,” said Jeannine.

With some trepidation, Josiah turned around. Cyprus was there, looking extremely angry. Josiah’s heart gave a little leap; he obviously still had feelings for her.

“Cyprus! What are you doing here?” he asked brightly.

“Combining clairvoyance and telepathy, I read your mind a little while ago and saw that you were planning to exact vengeance upon me, Josiah,” said Cyprus coldly. “I’m afraid I can’t let that happen.”

“Oh, I just said that in a fit of rage, Cyprus,” said Josiah. “I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you! I’ll tell you what: help me finish off John, and I’ll forgive you for rejecting me.”

“No, Josiah. I’m not helping you anymore. I came here to stop you, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

“Ha! You’re going to help John now, are you? Well, it won’t make a difference! I’m unstoppable – insuperable! Nothing you can do will prevent me from destroying him, and if you stand in my way, then I will destroy you!” declared Josiah.

“Oh, but you’re wrong,” argued Cyprus. “I was always more evil than you were. Why do you think I wasn’t interested in you? I realized you were a pretender, merely a dilettante; so I turned you down. And now, Josiah, I am going to finish you off.”

Josiah clenched his fists in anger, reluctant to fight the woman he had coveted. To make matters worse, in the time it had taken them to speak, both John and Bill had gotten to their feet once more. And then all hell broke lose.

CHAPTER SEVENTY SEVEN

2008-04-11T10:24:00.000-07:00

LXXVII
“Who are you?” demanded John. “Can’t you see that I’m already busy with an intruder? Give me five minutes.”

“Wait John!” cried the doctor. “Josiah is far too strong for you to defeat without assistance. He has greater strength now than he did before, but he also has a weakness, and I’m the only one who knows what it is. You need to –”

Josiah fired a bullet directly into Dr. Graham’s skull, killing him instantly. He didn’t even put down his cigarette, but he did take another long drag, smiling contentedly.

“Now that that little interruption has been dealt with, shall we continue?” he asked.

“I don’t know who that was or how he got here,” said John, “but if I’ve learned one thing from my time being dead, it’s how to finish people’s sentences for them. Your weakness is magnets!”

Josiah was dumbfounded; John knew his weakness! This was quite a bad turn for Josiah, since prior to that very moment, even he hadn’t known his weakness.

“All right John, so you know my weakness. I don’t see how that could possibly help you now, unless you have a comically large magnet hidden somewhere in the house,” said Josiah.

“Maybe I do, Malum,” lied John. “Maybe I do.”

He lunged forward, hoping to knock Josiah out before he could compose himself. Unfortunately, Josiah was already quite prepared, and he fired a shot.

John, however, had great reflexes; and he jumped nimbly aside, the bullet missing him completely. Then he reached into his pocket. Josiah flinched until he saw what John had pulled out: a simple flower, completely black.

“See this, Malum?” asked John. “I picked it from Hades’ garden right before I left the Underworld. Do you know what this is?”

“It’s a flower,” replied Josiah.

“It’s a flower from the Underworld. Do you know what that means?”

“No. And I don’t care.”

Josiah fired his gun and a bullet rapidly made its way toward John’s chest, but suddenly there was a flash of light, and when Josiah could see again, he found that John was completely unharmed; furthermore, he saw that John was now carrying a glistening diamond shield, the same one he’d had at the battle in the Coliseum!

“I am a hyperbotanical engineer, Malum. I know everything there is to know about unusual plants. Flowers from the Underworld have special properties, properties you couldn’t even begin to fathom. This one,” said John, raising the flower, “arms me with whatever weaponry I was equipped with at the time of my death.”

“So that means…”

“Yes!” shouted John, as another flash illuminated the room. “The magical sword is mine as well. Convenient, no? Why, if this were a story I’d even go so far as to call it lazy writing! It looks like this fight’s going to be a bit more fair than you thought it would be, doesn’t it? So what are you waiting for, Malum? Come get some.”

“Impudent little worm!” yelled Josiah, firing three shots in rapid succession.

All of them were blocked by John’s impenetrable shield. John then raised his glowing sword high above his head and brought it down fiercely, attempting to cleave Josiah Malum in two.

Taking advantage of the fact that his bones were essentially unbreakable, he parried John’s slash with his arm, using his other to throw a deadly punch that, if not for John’s shield, would have killed him.

Jeannine, who had managed to stay out of sight for the duration of the battle, saw that Josiah was distracted; and she took the opportunity to leave the house, planning to get help. She ran over to Bill’s (his trail wasn’t hard to follow) and furiously pounded on the door. Bill answered.

“Hi Jeannine! We can’t talk long, cause my mom says I’m not allowed to answer the door. I’m grounded again. What’s up?” he asked.

“John is in trouble! Josiah is in his house; they’re fighting right now! He needs your help! Hi Saul.”

“Hi!”

“Sorry Jeannine, I’m not allowed to go outside again. Mom grounded me for staying out too long. She says I can’t leave the house again until I’m 30,” explained Bill.

“You’re 37,” said Jeannine.

“Oh. Let’s go!”

They dashed back to John’s, praying that they weren’t too late.

CHAPTER SEVENTY SIX

2008-04-07T19:25:00.000-07:00

LXXVI
“So you paid the fare to cross the river by offering Mischa as a slave? That’s priceless!” said John, laughing. “And he never even married Cyprus?”

“No, I think Josiah ordered him to relinquish her, or something, and he obeyed,” replied Jeannine. “He’s like that.”

“Yeah, Mischa always was subservient. Good to hear, Jeannine; good to hear. You know, I’m glad you started traveling with us. You’re much better than Bill.”

“Hey, that’s not –”

“Shut up, Bill.”

“Okay.”

John had warmed up considerably to Jeannine since his resurrection, most likely because without her, he’d still be dead. This cheered Jeannine up greatly, as for the first time in a long time, she saw her chances with John improving.

“So what now, John?” she asked brightly.

“We’ll go to my house; I need to set some things in order. Like my job. I’m pretty sure I’ll be fired after failing to deliver mail for so long. But hey, it sure is a good thing the exit to the Underworld is only a block away from where I live,” said John. “And you say the entrance was only a few miles from the Coliseum? What convenience!”

“I love blocks!” exclaimed Bill. “My favorites are Legos. I built a castle once! But then a wave knocked it down. Or maybe that was a sand castle.”

“You know Bill, now that I think of it, it’s even good to see you again. You appreciate a lot of things after you die,” said John.

“You died?” asked Bill.

“No Bill, you just had to go to the UNDERWORLD to get the GOD OF THE DEAD to wake me up from a nap,” said John.

“Oh, okay. That’s what I thought.”

Together they walked to John’s house, John and Jeannine holding hands. A smirk spread across Jeannine’s face.

“So what happened to Josiah and Cyprus?” asked John.

“I don’t really know; Shamus was holding Josiah off to give me and Bill time to escape with you. For all we know, he might’ve won!” said Jeannine hopefully.

“I doubt it. Shamus is strong, but Josiah wouldn’t enter a battle he couldn’t win,” said John.
“Except that first one against Shamus…but after losing to him once, I’m sure he wouldn’t let himself lose again. At least, I don’t think he would. I really have no way of knowing for certain. Ah look, there’s my house. Bill, why don’t you run on home? Your mother’s probably worried sick about you. You can take Saul.”

“Hi!”

“You’re right John. I was supposed to be home over a year ago. She’s gonna ground me again, I can tell. Oh man…” lamented Bill, taking John’s advice and running home, with Saul cheerfully bringing up the rear.

John stepped onto his porch and withdrew a key from his wallet, which he miraculously still had on him. Into the lock he placed it, opening the door, to reveal a Josiah Malum, grasping a cigarette and smirking more broadly than Jeannine, with a maniacal glint in his eye.

“Malum! What are you doing here?” John demanded. “This is my house, and you’re trespassing.”

“Hello there, Mr. Morgan,” said Josiah, exhaling smoke. “As you’ve probably noticed, this is your house; and I’m trespassing. You’re also probably wondering what I’m doing here.”

“Your powers of repetition are impressive, Malum,” said John, “but I’m not impressed…by them. Get out of here before I kill you.”

“And how do you expect to do that? I already killed your friend Shamus,” replied Josiah. “I think it will be quite a cinch to get rid of you as well.”

“Bring it on, you fool.”

Not a second later, Dr. Graham burst through the door.

CHAPTER SEVENTY FIVE

2008-04-04T20:25:00.000-07:00

LXXV
Josiah was distraught. Not only had he failed with Cyprus, twice, but now his failure had discouraged him from carrying out his evil plan. He just couldn’t concentrate, try as he might.

“Damn that woman! I wish I knew what she were thinking, like she knows what I’m thinking. I really ought to find a way to stop that,” he said to himself. “No, no. She’s out of your life now, Josiah. Move on. Begin the evil plan. Yes. The evil plan! Sublimate your anger into planning ability!”

He set to work once more, but he was shortly interrupted by his secretary, who entered the room looking nervous – Josiah was notorious for shooting the messenger, both literally and figuratively. The last person to give him bad news was still decaying on the floor of Josiah’s office.

“Mr. Malum, moments ago your scouts spotted Jeannine, Bill and John – now alive – leaving the Underworld. Mischa was not with them. We have reason to believe he was found out and killed, probably because of his gross ineptitude” she said.

“That’s a shame,” said Josiah insincerely. “So! John is back, is he? Well, I can’t very well begin my evil plan with him still around. He’ll have to be dealt with. Brutally.”

Josiah halted his evil plan – again – and began contriving new ways to neutralize John. There was some difficulty involved; after all, if a man comes back from the dead, he’s obviously a pretty tough person to get rid of. Josiah lit a cigarette to help him think, and just as he was raising it to his mouth, the idea came to him.

“Of course! I’ll just kill him myself!” said Josiah. “It worked for Sanchez and Shamus; why wouldn’t it work here? Yes! It’s brilliant! Hades never brings people back to life more than once, I’m assuming.”

And with that, Josiah left his office, getting into his private helicopter. He nodded to the pilot, putting a fresh pack of cigarettes into his cup holder.

“Take me to the home of John Morgan,” he instructed. “There’s going to be an unpleasant little surprise waiting for him when he gets there: me! I mean, I. I almost disregarded the rules of predicate nominative there. That would’ve been embarrassing.”

The pilot nodded, and they were off. Josiah was much happier now, having practically forgotten about Cyprus altogether.

Unbeknownst to the Secretary of Evil, however, the metal endoskeleton he’d had implanted was more than just a metal endoskeleton: it was also a tracking device. Someone was listening to him all the while.

Dr. Doctor Graham, the man whom Josiah had turned down for the assistant job right before he’d hired Cyprus, had sworn revenge on Josiah Malum for rejecting his application. He’d concocted a number of elaborate schemes, finally settling on one when he heard that Josiah was in a coma.

He had managed to sneak into the hospital and perform the complicated bone-replacement surgery without anybody’s noticing, and now he could keep constant tabs on the Secretary.

“That fool thinks he’s going to kill John? Not if I have anything to say about it!” said Doctor. “And I do have something to say about it.”

He got into his car, turned it on and accelerated to top speed, recklessly chasing after Josiah.

“I could’ve been his assistant. I could’ve been the most loyal, dedicated assistant ever. But now I am his enemy. And he shall feel my wrath!”

CHAPTER SEVENTY FOUR

2008-04-03T05:36:00.000-07:00

LXXIV
“What the hell do you people want? How dare you disturb me?” thundered Hades. “I’m in a bad mood today, so whatever you’re about to say, make it quick.”

“O mighty Hades, King of the Underworld,” began Jeannine –

“Save it. I’m not in the mood for fulsome obsequiousness,” ordered Hades. “Just tell me what you want so I can laugh in your faces for having the audacity to ask me.”

“Well,” said Jeannine, “Our friend John was killed in a battle, and we were wondering if you could give him his life back. It’d really mean a lot to us. To me, anyway.”

“No,” replied Hades. “I’m in too bad a mood to grant that kind of request.”

“Why are you in such a bad mood?” asked Jeannine. “That seems to be the only thing anyone here can talk about.”

“I’m in a bad mood because my old secretary quit, I had to find a new one, and I hate him. Saul!”

Into the room bounced a happy-looking boy who looked to be around 16 years of age. Jeannine wondered why he had died so young, then realized that he was probably murdered, because the urge to kill him had already struck her.

“Hi!” said Saul cheerfully.

“He’s the worst assistant I’ve ever had,” lamented Hades. “My old one, Death, was much better. Saul can’t even obey the simplest instructions!”

“Then why’d you hire him?” asked Jeannine.

“I wish I knew,” answered the god. “Anyway, Saul! Get out of here. I am bored with you.”

“Yes ma’am! I mean, I mean, yes sir!” said Saul, tripping over his own feet as he kowtowed out of the room.

Jeannine had already begun to formulate a plan, Charon’s advice beginning to make sense. Hades hated Saul, and because of that, he was in a bad mood, which made him reluctant to help them. So…

“If you bring John back to life,” said Jeannine, “we could take Saul off your hands! We already have a new assistant lined up too: Mischa Petrovitch. He used to work for the Secretary of Evil.”

“Josiah Malum? Wow, his assistant would be nice to have. I’ll bet he’s really evil, isn’t he? Sadistic, cruel…isn’t he?”

“Umm…sure.”

“That’s great! All right, I’ll give your friend his life back. Where is he?” asked Hades.

“He’s right outside this room,” answered Jeannine.

“Excellent. Saul! Come back in and bring that body,” commanded Hades. “And don’t screw it up!”

“Right! Anything you sir, say. I mean, say, sir. I mean…no, that was right. Was it? Oh no!”

“SAUL!”

Saul stumbled into the room, dragging John’s body behind him with great effort. After several awkward minutes, he managed to carry the body to within a reasonable distance of Hades’ throne. He stood there until Hades pointed sternly at the door, through which Saul nervously scurried.

Hades looked down at John and snapped his fingers. John sat up instantly, gasping for air – alive. He looked around, wondering why he was now alive, and then saw Hades. Having minored in Greek mythology, he immediately recognized the god for who he was.

“Hades?” he asked. “Am I in the Underworld? Did you bring me back to life? Who brought me here? Why am I asking questions; I’m the smartest man in the world.”

“John! You’re alive!” cried Jeannine, rushing forward to hug him.

“I should’ve known,” chuckled John, shaking his head. “I suppose I owe you some thanks, Jeannine. Without you, I’d still be dead.”

“Hi John! Sleep well?” asked Bill. “That was a really long nap! The last time I slept that long, my mom came into my room and started poking me with a mop, and then I woke up and she made me mop the floor because the mop was already there.”

“Shut up, Bill. And who’s that?” asked John, pointing at Saul, who was sneakily peeking in through the open door.

“That’s Saul,” answered Jeannine, “Hades’ new assistant. He’s an idiot. We’re taking him with us and leaving Mischa with Hades.”

“Mischa’s here too?”

“Yes, he was following us, probably on Josiah’s orders,” answered Jeannine. “We left him back at the River Styx. That’s where you’ll find him, Hades.”

Hades nodded, then said, “Before you all leave, how about helping yourselves to a few…pomegranate seeds?”

“But I can’t spell pomegranate!” protested Bill.

Everyone burst into laughter, and they departed.

“I really can’t.”

CHAPTER SEVENTY THREE

2008-03-31T19:17:00.000-07:00

LXXIII
Jeannine and Bill now stood before the palace of Hades, dozens of times larger than the Blizzard’s ice castle and John’s in Denmark put together. Extending higher than either of them could see, it was made entirely of granite. Statues were carved into it at various points, statues depicting the other gods talking about how great Hades was.

“So he’s arrogant,” noted Jeannine. “Maybe that’s what we’re supposed to take advantage of.”

Skulls and bones bordered a path that led to the entrance, ominous gates crafted from silver and adamantine (the metal from Paradise Lost, not the one from X-Men). They were quite impenetrable. Above them a message was inscribed in Latin, which neither Jeannine nor Bill could read, thereby ensuring that it had no bearing on the plot whatsoever.

Slowly Bill and Jeannine walked down the path, their trepidation growing with each step. Unbeknownst to them, Hades was watching them the whole time, thanks to his newly installed closed-circuit security camera system (crystal balls were just passe, and he was deathly allergic to arrases).

“Who are these fools that approach my palace with such trepidation?” he asked himself. “Don’t they know I’m in a bad mood today?”

Bill and Jeannine reached the gates. They rang the doorbell, but it was no ordinary ring: a cacophonous shriek pierced through the dense, dank air, striking cold terror into their very souls. The gates opened.

“You go in first Bill. You’re expendable,” said Jeannine.

“Right!” agreed Bill, merrily skipping inside.

Shortly after they both entered, the gates slammed shut behind them: there was no way out. But this didn’t faze Jeannine at all – nothing would have stopped her from going forward.

They wandered through the palace, ridiculously lost. That they saw no one was even more unnerving than the sporadic ghosts they’d run across before. After about an hour though, it wasn’t so much terrifying as it was annoying.

“I swear we’ve been through this corridor before,” said Jeannine, frustrated. “Oh, this is stupid. HADES! We come here as supplicants; we are in need of your help. Show yourself!”

Nothing happened. Jeannine sighed and they continued onward. After another half hour, they reached a door they hadn’t yet seen. This one was different from the others in that it didn’t open when Bill tried it.

“In this room is either Hades or something Hades doesn’t want us to see,” concluded Jeannine. “We’ll need to find a way in. Bill, I have to use you as a battering ram.”

Jeannine gently set down John’s corpse and picked up Bill, backing up and preparing to charge into the locked room. As she started running, however, the door opened, and she merely ran right through.

The door shut as soon as they were in, and John’s body was left outside. Furiously, Jeannine dropped Bill and tried to open the door again, to no avail.

The lights went on. Jeannine looked over at Bill, who was stupefied with fear. She slowly turned to see what he was looking at – it was Hades, sitting on his magnificent throne. Her first thought was indeed that he was in a very bad mood.

CHAPTER SEVENTY TWO

2008-03-29T17:13:00.001-07:00

LXXII
Jeannine and Bill were carrying John’s body together now, as it seemed to them as though the closer they came to Cerberus, the heavier John became. The road wasn’t long, but it took them quite a long time to walk it; and when they neared the end, they found that they could hear the monster before they could see it.

A foreboding growl and discouraging howl nearly sent Bill running in the opposite direction; indeed, he would have run if it hadn’t been for the leash Jeannine had put on him.

Then they saw him – or them, rather. Well, I don’t know, really. Would a three-headed dog be considered one animal or three? I mean, probably not two, that wouldn’t make sense at all…I suppose that since it has three heads and thus three brains, it would be considered three separate entities; but the fact that they have to share the one body lends a lot of strength to the other side of the argument. It could really go either way. Anyway,

Bill saw Cerberus and immediately rushed forward to pet him, evidently unaware that this dog looked far more likely to kill than to cuddle. Surprisingly enough though, Cerberus loved being petted, and as soon as Bill began, the dog’s tail started wagging fervently.

“I have no idea why, but it’s working, Bill! You’re stopping the monster!” called Jeannine. “I knew you’d start pulling your weight sometime!”

“Monster? Where?” asked Bill.

He looked at the creature he was petting and for the first time realized that it was, in fact, a gigantic, three-headed dog. He panicked, stopping his petting and backing away fearfully. Bad move.

Cerberus started growling again (all three of him/them), this time moving menacingly forward. It was clear that he intended to eat Bill, or at the very least maul him.

“Bill! You need to pet him again. He likes it for some reason!” said Jeannine quickly.

“But my mom says I’m not supposed to pet any dog with more than two heads!” cried Bill. “I’ll get grounded! Last time I was grounded I wasn’t allowed outside for a month, so then when I was playing hopscotch, I broke a lamp, and mom got real mad, and then I wasn’t allowed inside for a month, so I had to go to purgatory. It was real boring.”

“Well if you don’t pet the dog, you’ll get eaten!” argued Jeannine. “Just do it, you idiot! Do it for John!”

Hearing the name of his best and only friend, Bill was filled with a new confidence; he strode forward, arm outstretched, and began petting Cerberus once more. It worked; the beast was placated.

“Now just keep petting him, Bill,” instructed Jeannine, slowly moving forward, “while I sneak stealthily past with John’s body. Once I give the signal, stop petting him and run to me; we’ll go on and find Hades together.”

“What?” asked Bill, who hadn’t understood.

“Pet the dog till I get back,” said Jeannine, increasing her speed significantly.

She walked past Bill and Cerberus and, once clear, broke into a run, which was rather difficult as she was carrying John’s body and she wasn’t very strong.

Bill stopped petting Cerberus. The dog growled, preparing to strike, but then its target disappeared. Bill had become invisible, sneaking past Cerberus and going to join Jeannine – they were almost there.

CHAPTER SEVENTY ONE

2008-03-27T21:29:00.000-07:00

LXXI
Josiah sat in the back of his Escalade, bitterly sipping brandy. He was upset about Cyprus’s rejecting him, but he knew he couldn’t let such an insignificant triviality interfere with his evil plan. He was an evil genius, after all; he was above such menial setbacks as rejection.

“So what, Josiah? You’ve been rejected before. And how did you deal with it then? You exacted sweet revenge upon the women who rejected you! Yes, that’s what I’ll do. Nothing cheers me up like vengeance,” he said to himself. “Except berating Mischa. That and vengeance are tied.”

Josiah now greatly desired a cigarette, but he had spilled brandy everywhere and wasn’t exactly eager to set the car on fire, so he restrained himself.

Before long, the car arrived at the airport, where Josiah’s private jet was waiting. He gave the order for departure back to Washington and waited in the cabin, pouring himself another glass of brandy. The plane took off, picking up speed on the runway and launching itself into the air. It was a smooth ride.

“I’ll get my vengeance on Cyprus,” he said, “after I complete my evil plan. The evil plan must come first; I’ve put it off more than long enough already. I just wish this infernal plane could go faster.”

He poured yet another glass of brandy and downed it in one gulp. Shortly afterward, the plane landed in Washington, and Josiah got out, opting to walk to his secret lair in the Pentagon rather than call for a limo. The fresh air would do him good.

Arriving in his Pentagon office, Josiah set to work immediately, making all of the calls and double-checking all of the crucial documents. It was finally happening; his evil plan was beginning.

But then, quite suddenly, Josiah realized that he was in no mood to work that day. He threw the documents to the floor and told his secretary to cancel the orders he’d given, figuring he could just give them again tomorrow.

“Damn that Cyprus!” he cursed. “No woman’s ever had this effect on me before. I’ll need to get my retribution now. Then that pitiful excuse for an ecumenically psychic woman will learn that nobody turns down Josiah Malum. Nobody!”

And with that, Josiah set to work again, this time with a different goal in mind: to get back at Cyprus for rejecting him. Of course, he soon realized that he didn’t have any idea how to do so.
At length, Josiah concluded that the best way to get back at Cyprus would be to call her and beg for a date, so he did.

“Hello Josiah,” said Cyprus on the other line.

“How did you know it was me? This is a secure line!” shouted Josiah, irate.

“Forgetting I’m psychic was cute the first few times, but now it’s just a redundant gag without any real humor value,” replied Cyprus. “I’d ask why you’re calling, but I already know. Because I’m a psychic.”

“Well?” demanded Josiah. “Will you go on a date with me or not?”

“Of course not. The fact that you’re asking over the phone instead of in person doesn’t change a thing. If anything, it makes me less likely to agree. Is that all? I have to sacrifice a virgin to the god of bloodshed.”

“But can’t you see we’re made for each other? I love the god of bloodshed! We’re going bowling together tomorrow! He house sits for me sometimes!” pleaded Josiah.

“Sorry, Josiah. Wait. No I’m not.”

She hung up, and Josiah hung his head.

CHAPTER SEVENTY

2008-03-25T21:36:00.000-07:00

LXX
Bill, Jeannine and Mischa waited patiently at the edge of the ghostly river with John’s body. A dense fog hovered over the water, and they could see nothing more than a foot in front of them. Jeannine checked her watch. The ferry was late.

“You’d think the Underworld would have punctual transportation,” she complained. “This is just as bad as the bus service!”

“Oh, I wouldn’t go quite that far, milady,” said a creepy, skeletal voice from somewhere on the river. “I’m runnin’ a little late today, oh yes, but I’m normally very reliable. Don’t go makin’ assumptions now.”

They could now make out the distinct sound of water being paddled, and shortly afterward an old looking boat came into sight. A grinning skeleton was steering it: it was Charon, ferryman of the River Styx, though of course none of them knew that. Bill gave a yelp of fright. Mischa gave a shriek of fright. Jeannine reached into her purse and pulled out some money.

“We’d like to cross the river,” she said. “How much would that cost us?”

“This is the Underworld. I don’t take American money, milady,” said Charon. “We switched to the Euro a few years ago; it’s just easier. You’ll have to pay some other way.”

“Perhaps one of us could sacrifice himself,” suggested Jeannine. “Like Mischa! Oh, don’t look so offended; you know you deserve it. It’s the least you can do after defeating John like that. Who do you think you are anyway?”

“But Comrade, I cannot be offered as a sacrifice!” protested Mischa. “I am allergic!”

“Quiet down, the lot of ya. I don’t take sacrifices neither,” interrupted Charon. “But I have an idea, that I do. One of you can work off the debt. I need a vacation.”

“That’s fine. Mischa, you’ll take Charon’s place until we return from our meeting with Hades,” said Jeannine. “Don’t drink that water, Bill. It can’t be good for you.”

“But I do not like manual labor, Comrade!” protested Mischa again. “It offends me.”

“Whoa, you folks are goin’ to Hades? Why’d you wanna do a stupid thing like that?” asked Charon. “He’s in a bad mood today, you know.”

“We’ve heard,” said Jeannine flatly. “Anyway, now will you let us cross? We’re in a hurry.”

“Sure thing, sure thing, settle down,” said Charon, beckoning for them to board the boat. “Keep your arms, legs and tails inside the vehicle at all times; no eating, drinking, smoking or fire-breathing is permitted onboard - and I bloody well mean that. All ready? Off we go!”

The boat zoomed away from the stygian shore, accelerating at an alarming pace – it was much faster than they were expecting, given Charon’s comically slow paddling speed.

“So why are you folks off to see the boss?” he asked again. “You never answered my question. That’s pretty rude, that is. Maximilian would have a fit. Have you met him? Polite chap, that one.”

“Yes, we know. And we’re going to ask Hades to resurrect my lo – our friend, John,” said Jeannine. “He fell off a horse and died.”

“That’s tragic, that is. Tragic,” said Charon, nodding. “But Hades doesn’t grant requests like that often, you know, even when he’s in a good mood. You’ll have quite a challenge convincin’ him, that’s for sure.”

“Do you have any suggestions?” asked Jeannine.

“Take advantage of the situation. That’s all I’ll say,” answered Charon. “You’ll know what to do when the time comes.”

“That’s pretty vague,” began Jeannine. “Do you –”

“Here we are: the other side of the River Styx! Right, now you,” he said, pointing at Mischa, “you’re staying here. Just paddle it back and forth, and make sure you don’t let anyone on who doesn’t pay. I’m off to my friend’s ghoul party! See, it sounds kind of like pool, get it? Oh, you Americans never get anything. I’ll be back in an hour.”

Charon stepped off the boat and started heading right, muttering bitterly all the while. Jeannine and Bill followed suit, going left. Mischa shot Jeannine a desperate look as she exited the boat, but she pretended not to notice.

“All right Bill, we need to take this path for approximately three miles. Then we should reach that three-headed dog Maximilian told us about. Hmm, I wonder how we’ll get past him,” said Jeannine. “If John were alive, he’d suggest feeding you to the dog, but…”

“Don’t worry Jeannine. I have a plan!” said Bill confidently.

“Really?” asked Jeannine, surprised.

“No. But I wish I did!”

CHAPTER SIXTY NINE

2008-03-24T07:39:00.000-07:00

LXIX
John’s corpse, Bill, Jeannine and Mischa walked closely together through the Underworld, all of them incurably terrified. Well, not so much John’s corpse, since he was dead and therefore incapable of experiencing emotions such as fear, but the others were terrified.

“Where is Hades, Bill? We seem to be walking around in circles,” said Jeannine, ducking quickly to avoid a passing ghost.

“Over there,” said Bill, pointing at Mischa.

“No Comrade, I am Mischa Petrovitch!” said Mischa. “I do not know why you would think I am Hades. I am not nearly intimidating enough!”

“Oh. I don’t know where he is, then,” said Bill. “Unless that’s him!”

“No Comrade, that is me again.”

Distraught, Jeannine took over as leader, a change which made very little difference. Not only were they in the most evil place in all existence; now they didn’t even know where they were going.

After another hour of aimless wandering, a figure approached them, and unlike the various ghosts and ghouls, this one knew what he was doing. Mischa shrank back, Bill didn’t see it, and Jeannine moved forward bravely to confront it.

“Who are you?” she asked shakily as the creature became more visible.

“My name is Maximilian Vandevris,” he said. “I am the greeter here, and the politest being in the universe. Welcome to the Underworld, Bill Williams, Mischa Petrovitch, Jeannine Morgan and John – oh dear me, he seems to be a bit dead, doesn’t he? A pity…a pity.”

“Yes, John is dead,” said Jeannine. “If you’ll let me explain the – well wait a minute, first of all, how do you know our names?”

“Pardon me for noticing, but you’re wearing nametags,” replied Maximilian. “Though I must compliment you on your extraordinary penmanship, Ms. Morgan.”

“Um. Thanks?”

“Yes, in that situation, ‘thank you’ is the appropriate response. Thank you for asking me to confirm it!” said Maximilian. “I am most grateful.”

“You’re welcome,” replied Jeannine confidently.

“Welcome accepted,” added Maximilian.

“Oh, um, acceptance…acknowledged?” tried Jeannine.

“Acknowledgment recognized!” responded the greeter.

“Recognition…huh?”

“The word you are searching for is noted. ‘Recognition noted’ is the proper response. But you did very well for a surface dweller! Now, how may I be of service?” Maximilian asked.

“Well, my companion John has been killed, and we wish to ask Hades to resurrect him,” explained Jeannine. “If you could tell us where he is, we’d really appreciate it.”

“I suppose I could,” said Maximilian, “but I must warn you, Hades isn’t in a very good mood today. He’ll probably refuse your request.”

“We’re willing to take that chance,” said Jeannine firmly. “Where is Hades?”

“You have to cross this river, the River Styx. Thence, you must find a way past Cerberus – oh, he’s an adorable little puppy! He has the cutest tail, and three heads, and he loves playing fetch,” added Maximilian after seeing the puzzled expression on Jeannine’s face. “Just yesterday he learned to roll over; it was so precious! Anyway, after him you’re more or less home free, but again, Hades is rather contentious today. I wish you all the best of luck!”

He bowed obsequiously and shot Jeannine a dirty look until she reciprocated. Satisfied, Maximilian walked away, pompous as could be.

“All right Bill, Mischa. Let’s cross this river!”

“How?” asked Mischa. “It doesn’t seem very navigable.”

“We’ll take the ferry,” answered Jeannine. “This welcome pamphlet has the schedule on it…let’s see…ah, it should be here in six minutes. We’ll wait quietly until then.”

“But what about –”

“Quietly, Bill.”

CHAPTER SIXTY EIGHT

2008-03-21T10:51:00.001-07:00

LXVIII
Josiah stood opposite Shamus, still in the Coliseum. Cyprus was off to the side, anxiously waiting for the fight that she knew could resume at any moment. The two men stared each other down, both prepared to strike at the slightest provocation.

“Well laddie, are you gonna come at me, or would you rather I come over there and show you what pain feels like?” taunted Shamus.

“I’ll attack you when I’m good and ready. Or maybe I’ll just kill you, because I have an evil plan to initiate!” retorted Josiah, taking out a gun.

Before Shamus could react, Josiah fired. The bullet moved so quickly that even Shamus couldn’t dodge it, and it hit him square in the chest. Under normal circumstances, of course, a bullet would do nothing to Shamus Flanagan – but this was no ordinary bullet.

It was laced with Xenonite, an element only found deep beneath the grounds of Ireland; it was Shamus’s one weakness. Before long, the leader and sole surviving member of the NBA was on the ground, writhing in agony.

“Amusing,” noted Josiah. “You remind me of Mischa, with all the writhing. So, Flanagan, how does it feel to be defeated by me, Josiah Malum, Secretary of Evil? Actually, don’t answer that. I’d rather answer it myself. It probably feels BAD. Right? Of course I’m right. I’m always right.”

Josiah burst into evil laughter, and Cyprus joined in, followed by the entire stadium. Evil laughter is contagious like that. They laughed together for a while, but the novelty wore off after about a minute. Josiah and Cyprus looked at each other and, without a word, exited the Coliseum.

Getting into Josiah’s Escalade, they drove to the apartment where Cyprus had been staying. Josiah was elated.

“Well, Josiah, that certainly went well. Shamus and John are both dead, Mischa’s partner has been eliminated, and Mischa himself would never oppose you, what with his lacking willpower. Everything is perfect. So when will you start that evil plan of yours?” asked Cyprus.

“As soon as the clock strikes 4:00,” replied Josiah.

“It’s 6:30.”

“Oh, well, tomorrow then. I can wait – after all, there’s nobody in this world who could possibly stop me now!” boasted Josiah.

He started to laugh again but shortly realized he had burned himself out for the day, so he quietly settled down and lit a cigarette. Then another.

“You should really stop smoking, you know,” warned Cyprus, who had begun to prepare dinner. “It leads to lung cancer. Wouldn’t that be ironic, if after eliminating all of your enemies, you were defeated by lung cancer?”

“I suppose so, but I’m immune to irony, so I needn’t worry,” responded Josiah.

“Immune to irony?” asked Cyprus, chopping carrots.

“Yes, it’s a very interesting story. I’ll tell it to you sometime, but not now. No, tonight is a night for celebration, not reminiscence. What’s for dinner?” asked Josiah.

“Beef,” said Cyprus. “I’m butchering the cow as we speak.”

Indeed she was, very brutally. Josiah knew then that he had make this woman his wife, or at the very least his concubine.

Of course, she had been reading his mind for hours, and combining precognition with telepathy she was already aware that Josiah would eventually think that; thus, she was prepared.

“I’m not at all attracted to you,” she said, catching Josiah off guard.

“Oh. You’re fired,” said Josiah, recovering surprisingly quickly.

“All right then.”

Josiah walked away.

CHAPTER SIXTY SEVEN

2008-03-19T11:50:00.001-07:00

LXVII
Jeannine and Bill walked quickly from the Coliseum, trying not to attract too much attention, which was rather difficult, what with the two billion people all staring right at them. They had to try though, because they knew that if Josiah were distracted from his fight with Shamus, they’d probably be stopped; and if they were stopped, they wouldn’t be able to bring John’s body to the Underworld.

“Hey Bill, where are we going, exactly? Is the entrance to the Underworld easy to find, or what? Or do you even know?” asked Jeannine, once they’d reached a safe distance.

“No, I thought you did!” said Bill. “Oh wait, yes I do. Follow me!”

He started running, and Jeannine (who had taken it upon herself to bear the body as her burden) had trouble keeping up with him; nevertheless, she did it, John’s welfare being all that mattered. Bill soon slowed down though, lacking any sort of endurance, and they continued.

Before long, the two reached the mouth of a dank cave. Jeannine was hesitant to move closer, what with the dankness, but Bill went right on in, clearly unafraid – he had glowsticks.

Holding one in front of him like a torch, he led the way down the dark, narrow passage.
This continued for a while, before the two hit a dead end. Bill tapped on it with his glowstick, but nothing happened

“I think we’re stuck,” he said to Jeannine.

“Maybe there’s a password or something,” she suggested. “If you were the Lord of the Underworld, what would your password be?”

“Flapjack!” cried Bill.

Defying Jeannine’s wildest expectations, the back wall of the cave started shaking in response to Bill’s word, and sure enough, it opened wide, leaving more than enough room for the two companions to walk through.

“How did you know that?” asked Jeannine, astounded.

“Know what?” asked Bill.

“The password!”

“Password? No, I just saw Flapjack over there so I said hi. You should talk to him sometime! You’d like him, he used to be a –”

“Well, that’s not important. Come on; let’s go. I don’t know whether corpses can expire, so we should get John to Hades as quickly as possible,” urged Jeannine.

And with that, the two set off through the archway. Immediately the ground dropped sharply; they had reached a staircase. Slowly they crept down the slippery stone steps, taking especial care not to fall. They couldn’t see any of their surroundings; they were engulfed by utter darkness. Bill’s glowstick had long since died.

They walked down the stairs for an indeterminate amount of time before finally reaching the bottom. This area was lit, though dimly; hence, everything they saw had an eerie, sepulchral feel. They continued, even more wary than before of what lay ahead.

Before long they encountered their first spirits. Skeletons and zombies wandered hither and thither, no clear goal in mind; ghosts hovered around them and swooped down whenever convenient. Jeannine grew frightened, but Bill strode confidently onward, glowstick in hand. He was apparently unaware that it was no longer glowing, something Jeannine just didn’t have the heart to tell him.

But then he noticed and started shaking uncontrollably, forcing them to stop. It reminded Jeannine of Mischa (who, incidentally, was following them, on Josiah’s orders – I’ll bet you forgot about that).

“C-Comrades!” he cried. “Why have we stopped walking forward? Is everything okay?”

Bill and Jeannine turned swiftly around and could faintly distinguish Mischa, who was writhing in terror. Although he was indirectly responsible for John’s death and was almost certainly working for Josiah again, neither considered him even a remote threat, so they replied without suspicion.

“Mischa! What are you doing here?” asked Jeannine, friendly as could be. “Are you going to help us bring John to Hades?”

“No, I have actually come to stop you, because Mr. Malum asked me to,” replied Mischa. “I mean, yes, I am here to help you. Forget that first thing I said.”

They moved on.

CHAPTER SIXTY SIX

2008-03-17T18:45:00.000-07:00

LXVI
It wasn’t. Upon seeing the death of the man she so dearly loved, Jeannine sprang forward, out of her seat and into the stadium. She had little difficulty sneaking past the security guards, just as she’d had little difficulty sneaking past the guards the night she first met John. If his life were in danger then, it was in much more now. She reached his body and picked it up, cradling the lifeless corpse in her arms.

“I don’t care what I have to do. I will help you regain your life, John!” she said, tears streaming down her face. “Well, there are a few things I won’t do, obviously. But I’ll do most things!”

Shortly thereafter, Bill managed to extricate himself from the hot dog cart and, ignoring his pain, went down to join Jeannine. He stood beside her, for once at a loss for words. But then he found some.

“I have an idea!” he said. “Why don’t we go ask Hades to bring John back from the dead? My mom told me I could do that when my pet lemming Tissues died, but I was too scared, and I didn’t like Tissues much because he always used to bite me when I took his food away when I was hungry. But I’ll do it for John! He’s my friend, I think.”

“That’s a good idea, Bill. But will it work?” asked Jeannine, choking back tears.

“Almost certainly not,” said Josiah, strutting toward them arrogantly. “No, nothing is going to bring this one back from the dead – not on my watch. I’ll see to it that his corpse is summarily incinerated. Now give it here!”

“No!” protested Jeannine, desperately trying to fight off the much stronger, much smarter man. “Bill, do something!”

“Umm…umm, hey, we can use that whistle Shamus gave us!” remembered Bill, taking the whistle from John’s pocket and blowing it.

A shrill note pierced the air, causing visible pain to everybody in the stadium, including Josiah. In the time it took him to recover, Shamus had already arrived, flying in through the Coliseum’s open roof and landing between Josiah and Jeannine, ready for action.

“Hello there again, laddie!” he called to Josiah. “I’m sure as shamrocks you remember me. I was your driver for a while! Oh, and I also put you into a coma that one time, didn’t I? Yes, it’s me: Shamus Flanagan!

“Yes, I remember you well, Flanagan. You’re the guy who put me into that co – right. But it won’t happen again; this time, I am prepared.”

He wasn’t. Shamus threw a punch that sent Josiah flying no fewer than 90 feet backward, crashing spectacularly through a wall, which crumbled as easily as though it were made of sand.

“I’ll hold him off! You two be gettin' John’s body to the Underworld!”

“Right!” they said in unison.

Jeannine and Bill picked up John’s lifeless body and ran out of the Coliseum. All the while, Mischa looked on, too nervous to choose a side in the conflict. He would rather have been getting to know his new wife, who he noticed had come down from the observation box with Josiah.

“Hello there, Comrade! I mean, Cyprus. Comrade Cyprus. My name is Mischa Petrovitch. I am your new husband!” he said.

“I know. I’m psychic,” said Cyprus.

“Oh. Well, I guess we should be getting to know each other, maybe?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Oh.”

Meanwhile, the battle raged on between Josiah and Shamus. Neither one seemed to be able to gain an advantage over the other. Mysteriously, Josiah had become many times stronger while in the coma – though the fact that he had undergone an operation to replace his bones with a new, super-dense titanium alloy might have had something to do with it.

They fought to a standstill. The stadium was still packed; everyone assumed this battle was just part of the show. Josiah smirked, lit a cigarette (his first since regaining consciousness!) and walked over to Cyprus and Mischa, leaving Shamus looking on, perplexed as to why Josiah had stopped fighting.

“Sorry Flanagan, but I have more important things to do than fight you. Mischa! You won Cyprus fair and square. John is dead, so by the rules of the contest, you get to marry her,” he said.

“Really? I never thought you would actually follow through with your word! I mean, there is always some sort of a catch with you, Mr. Malum. I am so grateful!”

“Oh, there’s a catch all right. As your superior, I order you to forfeit Cyprus to me.”

“Yes sir, Mr. Malum,” said Mischa bitterly.

“And go find Jeannine and the stupid one; make sure they don’t make it to the Underworld successfully,” ordered Josiah.

“Yes sir, Mr. Malum,” said Mischa again.

“And start trembling when you answer me again. It makes me feel better about myself.”

“Y-yes sir, Mr. M-malum, sir!” said Mischa.

“Ah, yes, that’s it.”

CHAPTER SIXTY FIVE

2008-03-15T10:06:00.000-07:00

LXV
Rupert was frantically parrying John’s sword with his bowie knife; he feared that he wouldn’t be able to keep it up much longer, as John’s sword was magical and his knife, well, wasn’t. It was also much smaller.

“Give it up, Mischa’s friend. You can’t beat me!” demanded John.

“I killed your zombies, and now I’ll kill you!” retorted Rupert.

Dodging a particularly powerful thrust, Rupert dived to the ground and desperately tried to sweep John’s feet out from under him before realizing John was on a horse. The horse, annoyed, kicked Rupert in the face, knocking him unconscious. Mischa was in trouble.

“I am in trouble, Comrade. Because I have no more Comrades!” he said. “Wait a minute, who am I even talking to?”

“That’s whom, you foolish fool!” yelled John, his horse galloping toward Mischa once more. All of the zombies were now dead, the last one having eaten his own brain (with some difficulty). It was now vis-a-vis, one-on-one, man-to-man – Mischa versus John. The final showdown.

John prepared a mighty strike, one that would sever Mischa’s head from his body if it connected. Mischa raised a white flag in defeat (he always carried a white flag with him, just in case) and fell to the ground in fear, arms over his head. John had won!

Smirking, he raised his sword victoriously and started to take a victory lap around the stadium. He had overcome his rival in combat, proving that he was the superior man; Cyprus would be his!

The crowd cheered, as all of them had been rooting for John. People just didn’t like Mischa. But there was one person in the audience who wasn’t very happy: Jeannine. Although she feigned happiness at John’s win, she was secretly terribly upset at having lost more or less any chance with John.

Bill didn’t realize what was happening, having eaten far too many hot dogs. He was now suffering from acute gastrointestinal pain, which he thought he’d cure by eating more of them.

John was just finishing up his lap when all of a sudden, his horse tripped over the corpse of one of the zombies, unseating John and flinging him sharply forward. He fell violently onto his head, cracking his skull and twisting his neck. He was dead.

An even more thunderous roar now erupted from the crowd. John had won the battle but lost his own life in the process! What a Pyrrhic victory! The winner was now…Mischa.

Mischa, of course, was stunned. On the one hand, he was happy to have won – now he could marry Cyprus. On the other, he was a little upset that his friend had been killed. But on the third, he realized that he had nothing to feel guilty about, as he hadn’t actually been responsible.

Jeannine burst into tears, and so did Bill (because his stomachache was getting even worse). So did Josiah, actually – tears of laughter.

“Oh, that’s rich. That’s great! John is dead, so Mischa wins; but because Mischa actually lost, I don’t have to give him anything,” he chuckled. “This is the best outcome possible!”

“The only thing better than this would be an outcome that also puts your evil plan into action, wouldn’t it, Josiah?” asked Cyprus. “I mean, a better outcome was technically possible.”

“Well, I guess so. But who really cares? I’ll be able to carry out that plan unhindered now! John was the only one who could stop me, and now he’s dead. This is the end!”

Or…was it?

CHAPTER SIXTY FOUR

2008-03-13T13:01:00.000-07:00

LXIV
John, atop a humongous black horse that he had, charged directly toward Mischa, his countenance eloquent with fury. He held his trusty sword, the same one he’d brought into the Den of Errour – but it wasn’t glowing. Mischa wasn’t a threat.

Mischa cowered, his confidence having been completely annihilated by Josiah’s insults; he was prepared to die. But loyal Rupert managed to push him out of the way at the last minute, and John rode harmlessly past.

His army, however, took this as their hint to charge as well, so 50 Danes rushed forward, unsure whether they should be marching with the zombies or independently. The zombies, on the other hand, were more interested in eating those delicious Dane brains – so they did, and half of John’s army was wiped out.

“God dammit,” he said, turning his horse around to go after Mischa once more. “I knew I should have made some sort of battle plan.”

As for Mischa’s side, Rupert was doing all of the fighting. He’d already managed to decapitate ten zombies with his bowie knife, zombie decapitation being one of his many specialties. The odds were still far from being in Mischa’s favor, but they weren’t quite so slanted anymore. This galvanized Mischa, who actually killed a zombie of his own, before being knocked to the ground by another – but then a third zombie ate the second, inadvertently rescuing Mischa from a horrible fate.

Moments later, Mischa narrowly dodged a fatal blow from John’s magical sword. He could feel its edge graze his cheek and was left with a painful scratch.

Rolling across the ground, Mischa called out, “Comrade! You try to defeat John! I will handle these zombies!”

“Are you sure about that, Mischa? You seem pretty incapable of winning against anybody. I mean, you’re just pathetic,” said Rupert. “Besides, I should be able to finish these zombies off quickly enough to have plenty of time left for John.”

“Oh, all right,” said Mischa. “I will just try not to die until then.”

A daunting task.

Meanwhile, Josiah was watching everything, looking down at the battle with great amusement. Cyprus was beside him, also amused.

“Look at those fools, fighting each other with such reckless abandon. And they used to be friends, Cyprus! Friends, until I turned them against each other! Oh, this is so evil. So very, very evil – I love it!” yelled Josiah.

“It is certainly entertaining, Mr. Malum,” agreed Cyprus. “But the Russian is doing much better than I thought he would. Well, his army is, anyway.”

“His arm – oh, you mean that one guy he has with him?” asked Josiah.

“Right, him.”

“Yes, I never would have expected Mischa to find such a competent ally. I’ll have to dispose of him if Mischa actually wins this thing – he could be a threat to my maleficent omnipotence,” said Josiah.

“Really?” asked Cyprus.

“No, of course not – nothing can threaten that. Except my one weakness,” said Josiah.

“And what might that be?” asked Cyprus.

“Can’t you just read my mind and find out?” questioned Josiah. “You do it all the time. It annoys the hell out of me.”

“I could,” replied Cyprus.

“Then why don’t you?”

“Maybe I just don’t feel like it,” said Cyprus. “It gets boring after a while, you know, just reading people’s minds all the time.”

“Oh, okay,” said Josiah. “Well I’m not telling you my weakness. Because that wouldn’t be very evil. And I am-”

"Yeah, yeah, I know..."

CHAPTER SIXTY THREE

2008-03-11T19:37:00.000-07:00

LXIII
The Coliseum was filled to capacity; not a person alive wanted to miss this fantastic battle. Many would, of course, have to miss it, as the recently-restored (at Josiah’s bidding) stadium couldn’t hold six billion people. A mere two billion could attend.

Josiah arrived a few hours before it was to begin and immediately sought out Cyprus, whom he found wandering around the stadium floor, unsure of where to go.

“Excellent, you’re here,” said Josiah. “Accompany me to the observation box. I’ll be administering the instructions.”

“I know you will. I’m a mind reader, remember?” asked Cyprus.

“Of course I don’t. Hurry up.”

The two walked up many flights of stairs until they reached the observation box, whence they would view the furious fray. A security guard informed Josiah that both John and Mischa had just arrived, along with their companions.

“Good. Tell them to enter the stadium so I can insult them in front of everyone and make them feel bad. I love doing that,” instructed Josiah. “Oh, and bring me a Pepsi. I love Pepsi.”

Less than ten minutes later, Josiah saw John enter the stadium, followed by an army comprising Danes and zombies. It was most impressive.

On the other side of the stadium he saw Mischa enter, followed by…some dude. This battle looked as though it would be a little one-sided.

“The handsome one will win,” whispered Cyprus. “My psychic powers are telling me so.”

“That’s impossible!” said Josiah. “Telepathy doesn’t give you the power to predict the future. Precognition is an entirely different psychic phenomenon. The third area of extra sensory perception is known as clairvoyance, the ability to be aware of objects or events typically unable to be perceived by human senses.”

“Yes, well, I have all three,” said Cyprus.

“Oh. Well, you don’t even need psychic powers to know that John will win. His army is a hundred men strong, and Mischa’s is only one. Also, Mischa sucks. I always knew Mischa was a loser. That’s why I fired him, you know,” said Josiah.

“I thought he betrayed you,” replied Cyprus. “Isn’t that why you fired him?”

“Yes,” answered Josiah, “but I fired him before he betrayed me.”

“How could he have betrayed you if he wasn’t working for you anymore?” asked Cyprus.

“This conversation is boring me. Get out of my way; I’m going to start the battle!” commanded Josiah, striding forward to the microphone.

Upon seeing the visage of his former boss towering so high above him, Mischa grew frightened, now much less confident in his and Rupert’s ability to overcome the insurmountable challenge of defeating John’s army.

John, however, didn’t notice Josiah at all. He was focused intently on Mischa, the man he would have to defeat in order to gain Cyprus’s hand in marriage. Nothing could stop him now.

Jeannine and Bill were watching from the audience. They hadn’t been able to afford tickets, so they had ambushed a hotdog vender and stolen his uniform. Jeannine donned it; she had Bill hide in the hotdog cart.

He spotted Josiah and pointed him out to Jeannine. She looked up at the Secretary of Evil – and then saw Cyprus beside him. Bitter envy welled up inside of her. She was secretly hoping that John would lose, so that he wouldn’t marry Cyprus; but her sense of loyalty prevented her from voicing her opinions.

Josiah spoke, his voice amplified by some sort of voice amplifier.

“Attention all participants. The following battle is to be fought to the death. The man whose army overcomes the other shall receive the hand of the lovely Cyprus Papandrou in marriage. The loser shall be condemned to eternal torment in the fiery pits of Hell. And Mischa, you are a stupid, stupid man and I hope you lose because I hate you. FIGHT!”

CHAPTER SIXTY TWO

2008-03-10T10:01:00.000-07:00

LXII
The day of the battle finally came. The participants had whittled away the weeks before it in various ways, occupying themselves however they could.

Mischa was at first a little upset because the clones he’d worked so hard to acquire had all died, but he got over it, sublimating his disappointment into determination. He began regularly practicing his proposal to Cyprus, whom he still thought he’d be able to marry. Of course, the odds of his winning were now ridiculously low, what with his no longer having an army.

Rupert, ever the good warrior, had been poring over strategy books, trying to find some masterful tactic that would allow him and Mischa to overcome John, 50 Danish soldiers and 50 zombies. After not finding anything at all, he just gave up, preparing to fight a losing battle, something he really hated the prospect of doing. But he would do it; he was going to stick things out till the end.

Bill, for the entire duration of their stay in Rome, waited outside the hotel. John was hoping he’d just wander off after a few days, but Bill remained glued firmly to the ground. And no, that’s not a metaphor; he was really glued to the ground. Someone had come up to him one night and put glue on his shoes. He struggled for a while but then, much as Rupert had, acquiesced to defeat, realizing it was futile to keep struggling.

Jeannine had been tagging along with John, following him wherever he went. Being very antisocial, however, John didn’t go many places, so it was rather boring for her. They ate dinner together once. Jeannine tried to seduce him; John tried to seduce their waitress. It later transpired that this waitress was actually male, so the resulting situation was very awkward for all of them.

Cyprus was working hard at Office Max. She hadn’t visited Josiah once in the year after Shamus put him into his coma; after all, she reasoned, he couldn’t very well pay her if he couldn’t move or talk. Regardless, she still kept her cell phone with her at all times – she knew that Josiah would awaken in a year, and she wanted to be there when he did. Or else she’d be fired.

Josiah was in a coma. He didn’t wake up until the day of the battle, which brings us right back to the beginning of this chapter.

“Where am I? Who are you?” demanded Josiah Malum, sitting up abruptly. “I’m too important to be in a hospital bed! What day is it?”

He was talking to a clock.

“A stubborn one, eh? Well, I’ll see to it that you spend the rest of your days in horrible agony, for I am Josiah Malum, Secretary of Evil!”

He then realized that the clock wasn’t being stubborn at all; in fact, it had the date on it – and yes, it was indeed the day of the battle.

Josiah stood up, dressed himself and walked to the nearest phone, where he dialed up Cyprus, whose number he still had memorized. He was a very intelligent man.

“Cyprus!” he shouted. “Get to the Coliseum. It’s time to watch some fools fight for you! Mwahahaha! Ah good, I’ve still got my evil laugh down. I was afraid it would atrophy, like my legs. Oh, we’re still talking, aren’t we? Well hang up, you idiot.”

Josiah got into his Escalade (which had been waiting outside the hospital the entire time; the driver had very nearly died from boredom) and drove to the airport, and thence, he took his private jet to Rome.

“It begins…”

It felt good to evil laugh again.

CHAPTER SIXTY ONE

2008-03-07T15:59:00.000-08:00

LXI
John, Bill, Jeannine entered the castle together. John had his zombies wait outside; he didn’t want to cause a panic. Immediately upon going inside, John gathered the 50 soldiers Pompetus had promised him and set off, refusing the feast that had been prepared.

“No, I do not want another feast. What’s wrong with you people? Don’t you ever just eat normal meals?” he said. “Oh, and Pompetus, you’re fired.”

“What?! But why, my Lord?” demanded the vassal.

“I don’t like you,” said John. “Now let’s go!”

And they were gone. With his army now prepared and that fateful date drawing ever nearer, John decided to go to Rome, where he’d wait out the remaining few weeks before the battle, preparing himself mentally for the ordeal to come.

Meanwhile, Mischa and Rupert had already returned from the nameless island, all 99 of their Dr. Awesome clones at hand. They too decided to wait for the battle in Rome, so thither they flew.

“Well Comrade, I certainly believe that we will win this battle without any problems at all! These clones are awesome!” said Mischa confidently.

“Yes, Mischa, they are awesome,” replied Rupert, “Dr. Awesome, in fact.”

“That was a good one, Comrade.”

“Of course it was. I’ve been working on it all day.”

John and Jeannine rented a hotel room, but being short on cash (he’d forgotten to bring any money from Denmark), they could only afford a room with two beds. John’s army had set up a camp on the outskirts of the city. Bill slept outside, in the dark, empty streets.

“But why can’t I come in?” asked Bill.

“You need to stay out here and…stand guard,” said John. “Make sure nobody…ah, forget it.”

John walked inside, reveling in the sound the door made as it slammed shut behind him. He filled a bucket with ice, walked into his room, double checked the locks and fell fast asleep, not at all concerned about the imminent battle.

Mischa and Rupert, by an astonishing coincidence, soon rented another room in the same hotel. They passed Bill on their way in, and Mischa greeted him, not considering him much of a threat.

“Hello there, Comrade! How have you been? Still traveling with John?” he inquired. “I sure hope he doesn’t think he will win the battle. Because I will win the battle!”

“Do I know you?” asked Bill.

“Of course you do! I am Mischa Petrovitch! This is my Comrade, Rupert. And these are 99 clones of Dr. Awesome. Do you not remember me?” responded Mischa.

“Oh. No, I don’t remember anything. John’s been giving me shots that keep me from remembering things. He says it’s for my own good.”

“That sounds like John, all right!”

“Who’s John?” asked Bill.

Mischa and Rupert went inside, instructing the Dr. Awesome clones to stay put. They naturally assumed the clones didn’t need sleep, or shelter. They were wrong, of course, and all of the clones died.

But they didn’t know it – no, that night they slept peacefully in their comfy hotel room; as did John and Jeannine, in their comfy hotel room; as did Josiah, in his comfy coma.

The battle was coming ever closer. Josiah would be out of his coma any day, ready to resume his malevolent machinations. And Cyprus? Well…she’d been rather busy herself.

She’d taken a part-time job at Office Max. It was very demanding.

CHAPTER SIXTY

2008-03-05T19:49:00.000-08:00

LX
John, using the light from his magical sword – and the terribly out of place yet amazingly convenient light-bulb – searched the cave for what seemed like hours. It was really only about a minute, but time has a way of slowing itself down when you’re bored.

“Oh, screw this,” he spat. “I’m going to take a break.”

John sat down on the damp cave floor and sighed, then noticed that diamond shield again. He stood up, walked over to it and bent down, examining it more closely now. It glistened beautifully in the light given off by his sword, and he knew that he had to have it. So he took it.

Then, miraculously, the room grew ten times as bright. Everything was lit as clearly as though it were daytime; there was nothing John couldn’t see. He then saw, under the shield, an unmistakable trap door, which he opened. He tried peering down into it, but even the radiance emitted by the diamond shield couldn’t penetrate that darkness.

Throwing caution to the winds, John jumped in. Thankfully, the drop was only about five feet, so he didn’t sustain any injuries; and perhaps even more thankfully, he now found himself in a secret chamber which held – you guessed it! – all of Errour’s captives.

Arms and legs bound in iron chains, they were all gaunt and pale, as though they’d been there for many years…which they had. None of them even bothered to look at John; they all just assumed he was a new prisoner, not worth regarding.

“Hey!” called John. “I’m here to rescue you all so you can fight in a battle for me. Come on now, let’s go.”

Nobody moved.

“I killed that monster,” continued John, undaunted, “by using my superior intellect. I’m a genius, you see. What the hell is wrong with you people? You’re free!”

He approached one and smacked him hard across the face.

“Are you even listening to me?” he demanded, now very annoyed. “I went through all this trouble finding the cave and killing the monster and this is how you ingrates repay me? I should – oh, wait a minute. You’re all dead.”

Slightly disappointed, John prepared to leave, when he remembered something. If the diamond shield had the power to illuminate a cave, surely it had other powers as well; perhaps it could revive these captive warriors!

Grasping the shield firmly and holding it aloft, John recalled the time he’d seen Evil Dead, and he proceeded to chant some nonsensical words which, sure enough, resurrected all fifty prisoners. As zombies, no less.

“Great, now you’re all my loyal slaves,” said John, looking upon his handiwork with satisfaction. “Follow me!”

The zombies all obeyed John’s command and, with some difficulty, followed him up the ladder and back out of the cave. Together they marched back toward John’s castle, news which a watchman delivered to Pompetus, causing him to cry.

A short while later, Bill and Jeannine returned, having not found anything on their respective paths. When they saw John approaching the castle, surrounded by a hoard of zombies, they grew worried, assuming they were the monsters residing in the den. They hurried forward.

“Don’t worry John, I know how to deal with zombies!” cried Jeannine. “You just need to decapitate them. Use your sword!”

“No, you idiot,” castigated John. “These zombies are the warriors I freed! They’d all died, so I brought them back to life. Now I have a hundred men under my command: this battle is going to be a piece of cake.”

“Why?” asked Bill.

“Do you want these zombies to eat your brain? They will if I tell them to.”

“Haha, that’s funny, John. I don’t have a brain!”

“Of course, how silly of me…fine, they’ll eat your X-Box.”

“I’ll be good,” said Bill meekly.

CHAPTER FIFTY NINE

2008-03-03T17:32:00.000-08:00

LIX
John, Bill, and Jeannine finished eating and set off in search of Errour’s den immediately thereafter. Their goal was simple: to free her captives from slavery, and force them to fight in the battle, willing or not. It was a very hypocritical plan. No one minded.

“Now Pompetus said it was ten miles from here but didn’t tell us in which direction, so I say we all split up and take different directions, to cover more ground,” suggested John.

“But then whoever finds the den will have to confront Errour alone, John,” said Jeannine. “I doubt any of us can manage that.”

“I can. And I’m the only one that matters,” said John. “If one of you finds it and dies and doesn’t show up back at the castle by nightfall, I’ll know where to find her. It’s a perfect plan. Everyone ready? Let’s go!”

At the behest of John, they all split up, and each started off in a different direction. Bill went left, the only direction he knew, his mother having given up on teaching him the distinction between left and right halfway through.

Jeannine went right, mistakenly assuming that the direction right was synonymous with the adjective indicating correctness.

John, however, went straight ahead. He would, of course, be the one to find the den of Errour; after all, he is the protagonist. Protagonists are always the ones who find hidden dens.

Look at that, a hidden den, thought John as he gazed upon the Den of Errour. I’ll bet it’s the den of Errour. In fact, I know it’s the den of Errour, because I know everything.

Strutting inside boldly, John drew his sword that he suddenly had and called out, “Errour! I’ve come to free your captives. Unless you want to die, please show me where they are. I’ll give you 30 seconds.”

John took out a stopwatch and started timing. The cave was completely dark. John couldn’t see anything but his watch, thanks to its nifty incandescent little glow.

The air in the den was cold and damp. Drops of water fell regularly from stalactites on the cave’s roof, echoing ominously, emphasizing the isolated solitude of caves.

Then, 24 seconds in, John heard something. It sounded like a snake, but one larger than any could possibly be. He heard a clicking sound, and suddenly the cave was completely illuminated – someone had turned on the lights, revealing the hideous creature: she had the head and torso of a woman, but her lower half was that of a gargantuan snake, slithering and writhing all about. It was Errour.

“Why have you come?” she hissed, italicizing every syllable.

“I already told you why I’ve come. If you weren’t listening, that’s your own problem; I refuse to repeat myself to the likes of you,” said John. “You’ll just have to improve your listening skills, monster. Then maybe next time you’ll hear me the first time around.”

“My missstake,” she replied. “I jussst remembered that I DO know what you sssaid. And I’m sssorry, but I can’t free the captives. I enjoy watching them sssuffer.”

“Then I’m afraid I’ll have to take them from you,” said John plainly, holding up his sword. “By force!”

It was a fine sword, made by the elves; it glowed blue whenever danger was near. It was glowing now. John had taken it from his throne room before leaving – clearly, it was something Claudius had stolen from his father when he’d stolen the throne.

Out of the corner of his eye, John then noticed something shining on the ground. It appeared to be a shield, but it was made entirely of diamond! He bent to pick it up, then realized that if he were to use it in the battle, it might decrease in value; so he left it alone and charged at Errour.

She was not unaccustomed to fighting humans, however, and before John even knew what was happening, she had him locked in her deadly coils. Within a few minutes, John would be completely suffocated.

But then he reached out and grabbed her throat, choking her to death. Very ironic.

“Now to free those captives!”

CHAPTER FIFTY EIGHT

2008-03-01T16:59:00.000-08:00

LVIII
“I can’t wait for this feast, Jeannine. All this heroism has made me hungry.”

John sat at the head of his grand table, preparing for the umpteenth feast that week. Jeannine had actually obeyed John’s orders to help with the cooking, but now she too sat at the table, ready to eat. Bill was nowhere to be seen; John assumed that he was still fixing the hole in the ceiling left by Shamus. He was wrong.

Regardless, the feast soon commenced. Everyone was laughing with joy at the good food and good company, except Pompetus, who was still bitter about John’s failure to die.

“I’d like to propose a toast,” said John, tapping on his crystal goblet with his spoon. “To me! The greatest, smartest king ever!”

“To John!” the call resounded.

“That wasn’t nearly enthusiastic enough,” said John, expressionless. “Again.”

“TO JOHN!” everyone cried.

“Better. Not perfect, but better. Carry on.”

They all resumed eating, and Jeannine took this opportunity to ask John what he and Shamus had spoken about. John was very cryptic, not thinking Jeannine capable of understanding much, but he told her enough for her to be worried.

“But what if you don’t win the battle, John, and Mischa does? Then he’ll get Cyprus, Josiah will make her betray him and all will be lost!” protested Jeannine.

“Mischa won’t win the battle, you fool,” claimed John. “How could he? I’m infinitely better than he is. I doubt he could even win a battle against Bill!”

“What?” asked Bill, who was suddenly present.

“Finish that roof yet?”

“What roof?” asked Bill.

“The one I told you to fix before the feast,” replied John. “You did fix it, didn’t you? If you didn’t fix it, I’m going to be very angry.”

“Fix?” asked Bill.

“You don’t know what fix means? Are you really that stupid?” questioned John.

“Yes,” answered Bill.

“Oh. Anyway,” said John, turning back to Jeannine and grabbing a chicken wing, “as I was saying, Mischa has no chance against me. He’s just…bad. At everything. I’ll win for sure, and then I’ll get Cyprus. After that, I’ll thwart Josiah and we’ll all live happily ever after.”

“But what about me?” asked Jeannine, again upset.

“You? What about you? Well, you can be our maid or something, I guess,” offered John. “You can do laundry, right? I hate doing laundry. It’s just not me.”

Jeannine sighed as John bit into a giant leg of lamb. A few minutes passed, and then Pompetus rose, evidently preparing to make some sort of speech. He waited (unsuccessfully) for the room to quiet down simply because of his standing, then cleared his throat loudly, which worked slightly better.

“King John, it has come to my attention that you desire another 50 warriors. Sadly, as was true before, we do not have the resources to meet your request. There is, however, another alternative. Roughly ten miles hence there is an enchanted den. If you defeat Errour, the monster therein, you shall find all the soldiers you need,” he said.

“Killing all these monsters is getting stale and repetitive,” said John. “First Wendel, then his mother…are you sure there isn’t a quicker way? Something a little less tedious?”

“I’m afraid not, my lord. Destroying Errour is the only way to obtain the men you seek,” said Pompetus. “Of course, Errour can’t be defeated by the likes of you! And when you die trying to kill her, I will be come king! Oh, crap…I really shouldn’t have said that part so loud.”

“To the den of Errour!” shouted John, standing up.

“John,” said Jeannine suddenly, “Do me.”

“What’s that?”

“A big favor, and pass the salt.”

“No. Woman.”

CHAPTER FIFTY SEVEN

2008-02-28T19:35:00.000-08:00

LVII
Mischa and Rupert ventured into the haunted forest with much trepidation. It was dark and dank, tenebrous and gloomy; none of the trees had any leaves, yet somehow, no sunlight could penetrate the upper canopy. Instead of birds, bats fluttered about; the woodland creatures were indistinguishable from one another, because it was impossible to get a good look at them – they all appeared to be no more than sets of malevolent red eyes.

“Boy, this forest sure is haunted, Comrade,” said Mischa. “I cannot remember the last time I was this frightened! I sure hope nothing bad happens.”

Nothing bad did happen though, and they passed through the forest without incident, arriving at the rentsy faux-volcano more quickly than they would have had they not taken the forest route, as per Rupert’s prediction.

“See Mischa, I told you it’d be okay,” said Rupert. “When it comes to things like this, you should just listen to me from now on. I’m obviously better at making plans than you are. I’m stronger too. And more attractive.”

Rupert went on for another five minutes or so as the two descended the spiral staircase. They reached the end and searched around for the door, which they had some trouble finding despite their knowing where to look.

“You two sure got here fast,” said Dr. Awesome, “for people who aren’t awesome. You have my money, I presume?”

“We certainly do, Comrade!” said Mischa. “This should be more than sufficient to pay for 99 clones of one of us.”

“Awesome,” said the good doctor. “It’ll take me approximately one second to make all the clones. I just need to know which one of you wants to be the model.”

“Well, Rupert is probably the better fighter, so I think we should clone him,” said Mischa. “We are going into a battle, after all.”

“I think Mischa’s more expendable, so we should probably clone him,” said Rupert. “We are going into a battle, after all.”

“Well this is a dilemma that won’t be resolved by you two,” said Dr. Awesome. “No, the only way to solve this problem is for me to be the model. 99 copies of Dr. Awesome, coming right up!”
Dr. Awesome retired to his private cloning room, cheerfully leafing through the innumerable bills Mischa had handed him. One second later, he marched out, followed by Dr. Awesome, and Dr. Awesome, and…well, 99 more Drs. Awesome.

“I have never seen so many copies of one person before!” exclaimed Mischa. “Thank you, Dr. Awesome. You have truly done us a great service. Now I am certain that I will win the battle for Cyprus.”

“You’re welcome!” replied all the doctors in unison.

The original then stepped forward, looking only slightly more awesome than the other 99. He put one hand on Mischa’s shoulder, then another on Rupert’s. He didn’t look at either one directly, instead staring straight between them.

“You two had better win. These are the most awesome clones ever made. If they fail, I’ll know it’s entirely your fault,” he said. “Now get the hell out of here! It’s time for me to find a new assistant. I have a feeling that moron Ted has met with an unfortunate accident. And by unfortunate, I mean awesome. For me. Not him though, he wasn’t awesome at all.”

Shaking his head, the doctor left. Mischa and Rupert stood there for a while, just admiring their 99 Dr. Awesome clones. Feeling very satisfied, they then proceeded to leave the island.

The plane they’d commandeered was still sitting there, untouched, and who should be waiting outside but Captain Arousing, looking more arousing than ever.

“I wondered where he’d gone,” said Rupert. “Hey, Mischa, I think it’s time we test these clones out. Clone 56! Kill Captain Arousing!”

One of the clones leapt forward with blinding speed and, with one punch, decapitated Captain Arousing. Mischa and Rupert looked at each other excitedly for a second and could find only one word to express their feelings:

“AWESOME!”

CHAPTER FIFTY SIX

2008-02-26T18:02:00.000-08:00

LVI
Shamus, John and Bill sat in a circle on a set of luxurious chairs in John’s throne room. John was listening intently to Shamus, while Bill was engrossed with a rubix cube, one side of which he’d almost managed to complete. Well, not really. He loved the purple cushions though; they were divinely comfortable.

“So Josiah’s been in a coma all this time?” asked John. “That’s incredible! This means he hasn’t had a chance to carry out his evil plan, and I can keep searching without worrying about wasting time! We really owe you one, Shamus.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it, laddie. After all, we’re workin’ toward the same goal, aren’t we?” said Shamus. “I was just doin’ me job.”

“But now that I think about it, why didn’t you kill him?” asked John. “I mean, you obviously had the upper hand in there, and I saw you take out two dozen armed marines once. You didn’t have to stop at knocking him unconscious for a year.”

“I was pretty drunk,” said Shamus. “I’m sure I had my reasons. I do some of my best thinking drunk, you know. Well, not really; that’s a blatant lie, that is. But trust me! It works out well this way. Now he’ll wake up in time to start that battle of yours –”

“ – Without having made any progress at all with his actual plans,” concluded John. “Then this really is the perfect solution. I’ll finish gathering my army, show up at the battle and win it. Then Cyprus will be mine!”

“About that, laddie…” began Shamus.

“What?” said John coldly.

“You do realize she’s workin’ for Josiah, right?” said Shamus. “I’ve a fair feeling she’ll betray you as soon as you marry her.”

“Oh, I’ve taken that into consideration,” said John. “That’s why I plan on killing Josiah as soon as I win the battle.”

“Won’t he have planned for that?” asked Shamus.

“Probably, but I’ll outsmart him, because I’m a genius!” proclaimed John. “He thinks he’ll use this battle to eliminate me and Mischa, but he’s walking right into my trap that I haven’t made yet. But I’ll make it. Oh, I’ll make it. And it will be brilliant!”

“Hey laddie, want me to fight on your team?” asked Shamus. “I am the greatest fighter on the planet, you know. I’m sure I could help ya.”

“That would be a good idea, Shamus,” said John, “but I don’t think so. Seeing you on my team will confirm in Josiah’s mind the fact that I’m still working against him. Now he thinks I’m just infatuated with Cyprus, that I’ve forgotten all about thwarting him – it’s imperative that he continue to think this.”

“You make a good point, laddie,” said Shamus. “I’ll stay away then. But if you need help, just blow on this whistle and I’ll be there!”

“You can hear this from anywhere on the planet?” asked John, amazed. “This is quite a whistle! Where’d you get it?”

“A box of Lucky Charms,” replied Shamus.

“I love that cereal!” said John.

“Yes, they remind me of home!” agreed Shamus. “I ate these all the time in Japan. Well, I’ll be seein’ ya!”

He stood up, extended an arm and flew away, leaving the whistle to John and a gaping hole in the palace roof. Heroic music started playing, but where it was coming from, nobody knew.

“Come on Bill, let’s go down to the feast. I’m sure it’s ready by now,” said John.

“Yeah! I’m real hungry. I remember one time I was so hungry I ate a whole horse! Well it was actually only a hamburger, but they both start with h! And I didn’t even really finish it, cause it was too big. I mean, I wasn’t THAT hungry.”

“On second thought, I’ll go down and eat and you’ll stay here and fix the roof. I’m not going to feed you today. There’s a ladder in that supply closet.”

“But I’m afraid of heights!” protested Bill.

“GOOD.”

CHAPTER FIFTY FIVE

2008-02-24T11:42:00.000-08:00

LV
“It looks like I’ve got you right where I want you,” said the old man, pointing his gun alternatively at Mischa and Rupert. “You must’ve thought you’d have an easy time robbing me, what with my being old and all. How wrong you were!”

“Please Comrade, we just wanted money so that we could clone ourselves!” supplicated Mischa. “We didn’t mean you any harm.”

“If you didn’t mean me any harm, why did you beat me up?” demanded the man. “You could’ve just asked for the money, you know, instead of pummeling a poor, defenseless old man.”

“Would you have given it to us if we had just asked you?” asked Mischa, surprised.

“Of course not, I would’ve sicced my lions on you,” replied the man. “Oh, I know what you’re thinking: ‘lions?’ Yes, lions! I’m rich, so I can afford them. They’re much better than dogs. Infinitely more leonine, which is a word that means having to do with lions. Clever, no? Now, what was I talking about again?”

“You were just about to give us more money, to make clones of ourselves,” said Rupert, “and let us walk out with that and the money we already found.”

“Oh, really? That doesn’t sound like something I’d do, but I’ll take your word for it,” said the old man, throwing a wallet stuffed with money at Rupert.

Rupert caught it, being a great athlete, and he and Mischa turned around ready to leave, when all of a sudden, they noticed that there was a lion blocking their path. It looked angry.

“I have never seen a lion so angry!” shouted Mischa fearfully. “And I have seen many an angry lion, Comrade!”

“I have too, Mischa, but I’ve seen lions much madder than this one” said Rupert. “Don’t worry, I know how to deal with angry lions. All I need is my trusty – ah, crap, I didn’t bring it. We’re screwed.”

But then down from the ceiling fell Ted, the receptionist from Dr. Awesome’s office! He had been hanging from a chandelier the whole time.

“Dr. Awesome told me to let myself get eaten by the lion to help you two escape,” he said. “He said I wouldn’t die though. I didn’t believe him, but then he said some stuff about being awesome, and I dunno…it was pretty convincing.”

Unfortunately, Ted was merely learning first-hand how Dr. Awesome fired his receptionists.

“Well Comrade, I guess we should escape now,” said Mischa, several minutes later.

“Good idea, Mischa. Good idea.”

The two men ran as quickly as they could, past the sated lion and out the door, safe and – more importantly – with all the money they needed. Beautiful, beautiful money.

“That was a pretty successful venture, Comrade,” noted Mischa. “And best of all, nobody important got hurt! Now, let us return to Dr. Awesome.”

“We’re running out of time though,” said Rupert. “We have less than an hour left, and we won’t make it if we go back the same way we came. I think we should take a shortcut through this haunted forest.”

“Are you sure, Comrade? That seems a little unnecessarily dangerous, if you ask me.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, did you think I was asking for your opinion? Because I wasn’t. I don’t value your input,” said Rupert. “Now come on – do you want that clone army or not?”

“Of course I do!” said Mischa. “But I think putting our lives in jeopardy again just to cut ten minutes off our walk is a little stupid.”

“That’s Commie talk, Mischa. You’re not a Communist, are you?” pressed Rupert, taking out his bowie knife. “You know what happens if you are…”

“To the forest!”

CHAPTER FIFTY FOUR

2008-02-22T05:50:00.000-08:00

LIV
John, Bill and Jeannine were skipping back to the castle. They were all in high spirits, having defeated both Wendel and his mother, and the fact that they were on their way to collect 50 men for the battle only added to their happiness.

“Maybe I’ll get even more for killing his mother!” thought John hopefully as the castle came into sight. “Then I’ll be done my search, and we can spend the extra time preparing.”

Suddenly, however, a cacophonous boom knocked all three of them to the ground as a dazzling flash temporarily rendered them blind. There had been an explosion!

“Did you guys see that?” asked John, slowly picking himself up.

“Yes. No. Wait, yes! Wait…no,” said Bill, disappointed. “Wait, what did you say? I wasn’t listening.”

“The explosion, Bill! I think it came from about a mile to the left. We should go check it out,” said John. “We can spare a few minutes.”

The three changed their course and set off for where the explosion had occurred. They jogged there, hoping to reach it quickly. After a minute, they realized that the explosion had come from inside a forest; they would have to go through it.

The forest was densely packed with all sorts of vegetation, so when they reached an area with charred tree trunks and burning grass, they knew that this clearing must have been caused by the explosion.

They all looked around, hoping to find the source, when a bright green flicker caught their eyes. It was Shamus!

“Well hello there, laddies! And you, missy” he said, nodding politely to Jeannine. “It’s been a fine while since we’ve met, ain’t it?”

“Shamus!” cried John. “It’s great to see you again! What are you doing here? What’s been going on with Josiah and the NBA? We have a lot to catch up on.”

“We sure do, laddie – sure as shamrocks! All we need now is a place to talk without bein’ overheard,” said Shamus.

“We’re going to the castle now,” said John. “I’m the king, so I should be able to get us some privacy.”

“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend, John?” asked Jeannine.

“No, you’re just not important,” replied John. “You remember Bill though, don’t you, Shamus? He brought down that helicopter by pointing at it?”

“Of course, laddie! Now, let’s get to that castle.”

Shamus, John, Bill, and a very angry Jeannine set off for John’s palace once more.
“So what was that explosion just now?” asked John. “I’m assuming you were behind it in some capacity.”

“Ay, I was, laddie. I flew here pretty fast and didn’t have much time to slow down, so when I
landed, I did a fair amount of damage, I did!”

“You flew here? I didn’t see a plane or anything,” said Jeannine.

“Right, I flew by meself.”

“You…you can fly?” asked John. “How?”

“Why, all Asians can fly, of course!"

"But-"

"Now let’s not be sayin’ anything more till we get to your castle!”

They walked on in silence, and it was very boring. In fact, it was probably the most boring thing to have happened since that fateful day John opened the letter to Newsweek. He reflected on how turbulent his life had become as he continued walking, but that actually made him long for some excitement, which ended up only increasing his boredom.

Finally, they reached the castle. The doors were already open, and Pompetus stood there to greet them, straining to look relieved.

“King John! You’ve returned!” said Pompetus brightly. “And I see you’re still alive, thereby retaining control of the crown and preventing me, Pompetus, your loyal servant, from taking it. What…good news!”

“Yes, thank you, Pompetus. This is Shamus,” said John, pointing to Shamus. “He’s with me. Now we’re going to go to my throne room and discuss the present situation. I’ll be leaving tomorrow. Ready my 50 men.”

“Certainly, my Lord,” said Pompetus, scowling cheerfully.

“And prepare a feast. I could go for a nice feast right about now,” continued John.

“But of course,” replied Pompetus.

“Excellent. Jeannine, help the cooks with dinner. Bill, Shamus? Come with me.”

CHAPTER FIFTY THREE

2008-02-20T19:51:00.000-08:00

LIII
Mischa and Rupert left Dr. Awesome’s stem cell research clinic in a hurry and set off for the other side of the island, where they hoped to find the man who allegedly had enough money to be worth robbing.

“You have robbed people before, right, Comrade?” inquired Mischa.

“Of course I have. I’m robbing you right now!” said Rupert, stealing Mischa’s empty wallet. “Walk faster! We don’t have all day, you know.”

“Right. Because we have three days!” said Mischa.

“No, we only have one day. Didn’t you hear Dr. Awesome’s last sentence? It was awesome!” snapped Rupert.

“Oh, right. I am sorry, Comrade. All of that running must have damaged my brain, or something,” explained Mischa.

The two increased their pace and finally stumbled across a gigantic mansion. An insurmountable stone wall surrounded the property, and the only way in was through a wrought iron gate, which was bolted shut.

Marble pillars formed a walkway from the gate to the front door, which was also made of marble, so presumably it would be extremely difficult to open – which was just as well, as the man who lived in the mansion neither left its confines nor let people inside, being a bitter, resentful misanthrope.

Mischa rang the bell, and much to his surprise, a reply came almost immediately.

It was a gruff, peevish voice that came through the speaker: “What do you want? I hate everyone.”

“We are going to rob you,” said Mischa. “Could you let us in, please?”

“Dammit Mischa, could you be any less competent? Let me handle this,” said Rupert, pushing Mischa out of the way and moving up to the speaker. “Hello sir, we’re selling girl scout cookies. Would you like to buy some?”

“Oh, yes. I love girl scout cookies! Come on in!” said the voice.

The gate slowly opened – very slowly. Mischa and Rupert actually considered leaving because it was taking so long. But they waited.

They squeezed through when there was a gap big enough to fit them and approached the main entrance, where they waited for the marble door to open. It didn’t.

Mischa knocked, grievously injuring his hand; then Rupert knocked, punching a hole straight through the door, which then opened somehow. The old man was standing right there, clearly having been expecting them.

“I’d like three boxes of those thin mints; they’re delicious!” he said. “And do you still have those caramel ones? Oh, those are good. Those are real good. Hey, hang on a minute…you don’t look like girl scouts! Girl scouts are little girls, not grown men!”

“He is onto us, Comrade. Get him!” shouted Mischa.

Mischa and Rupert tackled the man and started punching him. He didn’t fight back, instead berating himself for having fired all his security guards that morning.

“I think he is unconscious, Comrade. Let us take his money,” said Mischa.

“There’s just one problem, Mischa,” noted Rupert. “We don’t know where it is. We’ll have to split up and search the mansion.”

They split up and searched the mansion, finding lots and lots of money.

“Well done, Comrade,” said Mischa. “Now let us return to Dr. Awesome’s stem cell research clinic, so that he can clone us!”

“Not so fast!” said the voice of the old man, who had regained consciousness and was blocking their exit path. “You’re not going anywhere!”

“Oh? And how do you propose to stop us, old man?” asked Mischa, moving forward threateningly.

“With this gun I'm holding.”

“…Crap.”

CHAPTER FIFTY TWO

2008-02-18T16:00:00.000-08:00

LII
John, Bill and Jeannine were searching frantically for Wendel’s escaped mother. John, having grown up in Denmark, was familiar with the area, so he led the way. Of course, he would’ve led the way anyway, being the leader; but, you know.

The real problem was that, as usual, they had absolutely no idea where to look. They searched through jungles; they searched through swamps; they searched through deserts – all to no avail.

Suddenly, as the three traipsed through a random parking lot, Jeannine got an idea.

“Maybe we should check her house,” she said. “For all we know, she went back there to prepare a defense or something. That’s what I would do, anyway.”

“That would be a good idea, Jeannine – if I had thought of it. Coming from you…eh. But we’ll check it out anyway, just for the hell of it. Come on!” said John, leading them back to the vile lake.

This time they all dived in and swam down to the bottom at top speed (which wasn’t very fast, since none of them were particularly good swimmers).

When they reached the bottom, Jeannine’s hunch was confirmed. Sure enough, the lights were all on in the house of Wendel’s mother. Signaling for everyone to move in, John swam to the door and opened it, without knocking. Bill and Jeannine swam in close behind.

John walked slowly forward, aware that the woman could be anywhere, ready to strike at a moment’s notice. He saw the tray of cookies from earlier still lying on the ground, uneaten.

“All right, Wendel’s mother, you eluded us for a couple of hours, but now the game is up. Show yourself and come quietly, or I’ll kill you right here,” said John.

“I’d like to see you try!” said Wendel’s mother, running out of the kitchen with a gigantic butcher knife.

She leapt upon John and the two proceeded to struggle. After a while, she gained the upper hand, stabbing John in the chest. Jeannine shrieked in terror; Bill was busy trying to catch his own shadow.

“Ha!” laughed John. “Luckily for me, I put on my mithril armor this morning. Not even the sharpest knife can pierce through it. But I’ll bet this knife can pierce through you.”

And with that, John wrested the knife from Wendel’s mother’s grip; and he sliced her head from her body in one clean blow. Thus defeated, the wench’s body vanished, fading out of existence.

“That’s odd,” said John.

“You sure showed her who’s the mailman!” said Bill.

“What?”

“Well done, John! I knew you could win,” lauded Jeannine, nearly bursting with relief. “Now, I think we should be getting back up to the castle. You need to collect those soldiers for your battle…for Cyprus.”

“Ah yes! Cyprus! She sure is beautiful, isn’t she, Jeannine? I mean, wow. There’s no woman in the world I’d rather marry than Cyprus,” said John.

Jeannine looked upset and slowly started back toward the door. John remained lost in his fantasies for a few minutes, but miraculously, he did eventually notice the plight of his companion.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Oh, it’s –”

“Wait, never mind. I don’t care. Back to the castle!”

CHAPTER FIFTY ONE

2008-02-16T12:48:00.000-08:00

LI
Dr. Awesome led Mischa and Rupert to the stem cell research clinic. There was a staircase beginning at the top of the volcano that formed a winding pathway down its interior. Mischa was apprehensive when they reached the lava, but Dr. Awesome kept on walking. It turned out that it wasn’t lava at all, just orange juice; and the volcano was completely fake.

“That explains why it didn’t taste like lava!” Mischa remarked.

They continued down the staircase, wading deeper and deeper into the orange juice, when Dr. Awesome stopped. Before them was a door, practically invisible to anyone who didn’t know it was there. The doctor winked, and the door opened automatically.

Mischa and Rupert followed Dr. Awesome into the waiting room of a very professional-looking office. A receptionist sat at a clean, metal desk, above which was a sign that read “Volcano Stem Cell Research Clinic.”

“This is definitely the place, Comrade!” said Mischa.

“Hey you, stop talking,” said Dr. Awesome. “Your voice isn’t nearly awesome enough. Now you two wait here with the receptionist while I go look at myself in the mirror for a while. Then we’ll get down to business.”

Mischa and Rupert stood around in the waiting area awkwardly. The receptionist didn’t introduce herself or, indeed, say anything at all. He just stared into space, apparently looking for something that nobody else could see.

“Hello?” tried Mischa. “Mrs. Receptionist? Are you…awake?”

There was no answer.

“I think that’s a man, Mischa, and I think he’s insane,” offered Rupert. “The ‘Receptionist Is Insane: Do Not Provoke’ sign is a pretty good clue. I hope Dr. Awesome gets back soon; he’s really starting to creep me out.”

“All right, I’m back,” said Dr. Awesome, walking back into the room. “I see you’ve noticed our receptionist, Ted. We got him from a mental institution. I don’t know why.”

“Ah, I see. I notice you are saying we, Comrade. Is there another doctor here as well?” asked Mischa, curious.

“No, I’m just so awesome that I sometimes need to refer to myself in the plural,” explained Dr. Awesome, who upon seeing the look on Mischa’s face added, “We aren’t joking.”

“Oh, I see. Well, we have come to –”

“I know why you’re here, Mischa. And you too, Rupert. Yes, I know everything; I’m just that awesome. You two want me to clone you into an army, right?” asked Dr. Awesome.

“That’s right,” replied Rupert. “Can you do it?”

“Of course I can. I’m awesome!” answered Dr. Awesome. “But it isn’t free. No, I’m going to need money. Well, I don’t need it; I mean, I am awesome enough to subsist without it. But I like it. And so I want it. And I just so happen to know that neither of you has anywhere near enough to pay me.”

Mischa’s happiness, which had been welling like a balloon for the past few minutes, was instantly punctured. Cloning was his last hope; now he had no way to get another 99 men for the battle. Cyprus was lost to him forever.

“Fortunately for you, there’s a really rich old guy living on the other side of this island. You could rob him to get the money,” suggested Dr. Awesome. “I’ll give you three days. And by three days, I mean one day. Go!”

Mischa and Rupert jumped up and dashed out of Dr. Awesome’s office and back up the volcano staircase, their next move clear: to rob an old man.

“Do you think that we can do this in one day, Comrade?” asked Mischa, panting.

“Under normal circumstances, no; but I think a little awesomeness from Dr. Awesome rubbed off on us. Let’s do this, Mischa.”

CHAPTER FIFTY

2008-02-14T10:16:00.000-08:00

L
John dived into the vile lake. It was really, really vile. I mean, you may think you’ve seen a vile lake before, but trust me, no lake could compare to this one in terms of pure vileness. It’s way off the Vile Scale, and that’s a very comprehensive scale.

Anyway, John sank down for a while, remembering that Wendel’s mother was said to live at the very bottom. Unfortunately, this took a long time, as the lake was almost as deep as it was vile. And it was extremely vile.

When he finally reached the bottom, he saw a lovely, suburban-style house: white picket fence, brick chimney, lawn ornaments – everything!

How strange, John thought to himself. I didn’t think they built houses underwater. In fact, I know they don’t build houses underwater. Something’s horribly wrong here. A man less smart than I would probably need to be cautious.

Putting his reservations aside, John deduced that this was almost certainly where the fiend’s mother took up residence. Bracing himself, he swam forward and knocked on the door, waiting for a response.

The door swung open, and sure enough, Wendel’s mother was standing there. Her countenance bore the unmistakable signs of fury, but she gestured for John to enter. He did, wondering for a moment why water wasn’t flowing in through the open door, which the woman then shut.

“What are you doing here, you murderer?” she demanded. “I was just baking cookies. Cookies…they were Wendel’s favorite!”

She began sobbing, falling to the floor in grief. John rolled his eyes and sighed impatiently; he had urgent business to attend to and needed to hurry.

“Listen, I don’t have time to play games. Oh, except Scrabble. There’s always time for Scrabble. But anyway, I’m here because I don’t really want to be sued right now. Sorry, but you’ll just have to drop the suit,” said John.

“You can’t tell me what to do! This is America, and I have the right to –”

“Correction: you have NO rights. This isn’t America, we’re in Denmark,” said John. “Moreover, I’m the king, so I can do whatever I want. In fact, I think I’m going to have you executed. Guards!”

John snapped his fingers, evidently waiting for some guards to show up. Of course, as he’d gone down into the lake alone, nobody came. Wendel’s mother raised an eyebrow. John scowled.

“Hmm, I guess I’ll have to use my incredible intellect to outwit you,” he said. “Follow me, wench, so I can have you executed!”

“All right then,” said Wendel’s mother. “But are you sure you don’t want a cookie first? They’re chocolate chip.”

She held out a plate of the now-finished cookies she’d been baking. John looked at them cautiously, remembering the Blizzard’s attempt to poison him, Bill, and Mischa back in Antarctica. He laughed.

“Yes, I’m sure. I don’t like poison!” he spat. “Well, actually, I do like poison – very useful stuff, for assassinations and such. But I don’t like eating it, that’s for sure. Anyway, follow me.”
She cursed, and John knew he’d made the right decision. She followed John out of the house and together they swam back to the surface. When they got there, Bill and Jeannine were waiting.

“Jeannine, get some handcuffs on her. We’re going to bring this witch back to my palace so she can be executed for trying to sue me,” said John.

“Isn’t that a bit harsh, John?” asked Jeannine.

“No it isn’t,” said John. “Hurry up, cuff her before she escapes.”

“But I don’t have any handcuffs,” protested Jeannine. “You never told me to bring any, you know. What, did you just assume I’d have a pair of handcuffs on me?”

“Obviously. Anyway, fine, I guess we’ll have to make some. Bill! Take that rock over there and turn it into handcuffs,” ordered John.

“Sure thing, John!”

Bill ran over to the rock to which John had pointed and, using his alchemy skills, transformed it into a pair of shining silver handcuffs.

“Here you go! Oh, whoops, I’ve got myself trapped in them. Don’t worry though, I know how to get myself out,” said Bill.

He struggled for almost ten minutes before realizing he didn’t know how to get himself out at all.

“Oh, I guess I don’t,” said Bill, grinning cluelessly.

“Bill,” said John, “if you were any stupider, you’d – oh crap! Wendel’s mother escaped. I knew this would happen. Come on, we need to go look for her.”

“For who?” asked Bill.

“Whom! For whom!”

“Oh, okay! Who’s Whom?”

“I’m going to kill you.”

CHAPTER FORTY NINE

2008-02-12T05:08:00.000-08:00

XLIX
Mischa landed the plane at the remarkably convenient airport, and he and Rupert exited, leaving Captain Arousing aboard.

As soon as they stepped outside, they were hit with a blast of humidity. It was excruciatingly hot on the island, something which troubled Mischa greatly.

“I did not think it would be so hot in South America, Comrade,” he said. “I wish I hadn’t brought these heavy jackets.”

“Why don’t you just take them off?” asked Rupert.

“Oh no, I can’t do that.”

Rupert shook his head and started walking, but Mischa wasn’t moving. Rupert stopped too, then turned to stare at Mischa impatiently.

“Are you coming?”

“Just a minute, Comrade. I am trying to remember the title of a song I once heard.”

The two stood there for a good five minutes, until Mischa finally remembered. He smiled, then walked over to Rupert.

“Okay Comrade, we must go toward that volcano. But maybe we should wait until it stops erupting; I hear lava can be quite painful if you touch it!” cautioned Mischa.

“Nonsense!” rebuked Rupert. “A little lava never hurt anyone. Let’s go!”

Rupert and Mischa set off in the direction of the volcano. Mischa was nervous, not knowing what to expect, until he remembered his plan for getting inside. He figured now was as good a time as any to tell Rupert.

“I just realized I never told you my plan, Comrade,” said Mischa.

“Yeah, I know. I was gonna ask you, but I don’t like talking to you,” said Rupert. “Anyway, what is it?”

“Well, I am simply going to use my freeze ray to freeze the lava!” said Mischa. “That way, we won’t be burned when we try to get to the stem cell research clinic.”

“That’s a great idea, Mischa,” said Captain Arousing, who had been following them. “Speaking of great ideas, I have one of my own. It involves you, me, a mouse, and lots of whipped cream.”

Rupert’s eyebrows rose in alarm, and Mischa started backing away slowly. Evidently, they’d mistakenly assumed Captain Arousing was coming onto them. Really though, he just wanted to bake one of his famous mouse-and-whipped-cream pies.

Then use it to seduce Mischa.

“What’s wrong, fellas?” asked Captain Arousing.

Mischa and Rupert took this as a cue to run off as quickly as possible. Captain Arousing stood contemplating the situation for a moment.

“I’ll follow them. I’m like that,” he said, chasing after them.

Less than a minute later, they all reached the volcano, which was just finishing erupting. Mischa had been using his freeze ray to clear a path to the volcano, and he held it aloft as they began to scale it.

“Where’d you get a freeze ray, anyway?” asked Rupert.

“Garage sale.”

It was an arduous climb, and it took at least three hours for them to reach the peak. When they did, they peered down into the fiery abyss below. Rupert checked behind him to see that Captain Arousing was still there. He told Mischa.

After briefly considering pushing Captain Arousing in, Mischa raised his freeze ray and prepared to fire, when all of a sudden, someone grabbed him harshly by the shoulder.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” said the man, shaking Mischa roughly and causing him to drop the freeze ray.

“Ow! Get off of me, Captain Arousing. I am trying to clear a path into the volcano, because we need to visit the stem cell research clinic!” explained Mischa. “Now please, let me go. I have a very low pain threshold.”

“I ain’t Captain Arousing, you stupid little whiner-baby! You really thought the only way to get in was to freeze the lava? Just follow me; I’ll take you to the clinic. Moron.”

“But then, who are you?” inquired Rupert.

“The name’s Awesome: Dr. Awesome.”

CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT

2008-02-10T09:05:00.000-08:00

XLVIII
The sound of the knocks reverberated throughout the room. Everyone’s attention was drawn to the door, but nobody answered it. The knocking continued. At last, John threw back his head in a gesture of confidence and walked over. Hesitantly, he eased the door open, revealing a very angry woman.

“Are you John Morgan?” she demanded immediately.

“Yes, I’m John Morgan. King John Morgan to you,” corrected John. “And I’ll thank you to tell me what the hell you’re doing here. We’re trying to have a party! I just killed a monster, you know.”

“Oh yes, I know all right!” said the woman, her face red with anger. “I know what you did, you awful man! But I’m not here to celebrate. You killed my boy Wendel, and now I’m going to take revenge!”

“Revenge?” said John skeptically. “And how do you plan on doing that? I’m stronger, faster and smarter than you are, probably.”

“I’m going to file a lawsuit so big you won’t even know what hit you!” cried the woman.

“You and your son have a lot in common, like saying things that don’t make any sense. ‘A lawsuit so big I won’t even know what hit me?’” asked John. “Regardless of how big the lawsuit is, I’m pretty sure I’ll always know it’s a lawsuit. I’m not stupid. You really need to work on your threats. Good day. Wait. Scratch that. Bad day.”

He slammed the door and barred it, leaving Wendel’s unfortunate mother alone in the cold. John returned to the feast, and for a time he forgot all about the incursion of Wendel’s mom.

But in the night, she came. She came with lawyers, deceitful, treacherous. She came and she filed suit, and when John awoke the next morning he was most displeased.

“What?! She actually filed the lawsuit? How is that even possible; I’m the king of this stupid country!” yelled John. “I’m going to have a word with this lady. Pompetus, where does she live?”

“At the bottom of a vile lake, my Lord; but I must caution you against –”

“Excellent,” said John. “Come on Bill, Jeannine. We have a lawsuit to avoid. Then we’ll take those men I earned and try to find 50 more before the battle.”

After breakfast, John, Bill and Jeannine left the castle and went searching for the lake. Of course, Pompetus had never gotten a chance to tell them where it was, so they looked for quite a while without finding anything.

Finally, after a lot of tedious searching, they did find a lake, but it was the wrong lake, so they turned back and set off for the castle again, where they got more specific directions from Pompetus.

After Pompetus told them what to look for and where to look for it, they left once more. After about an hour they stumbled across another lake – a vile lake.

“This must be the place,” said Jeannine. “Something doesn’t seem quite right about this, John. I mean, how does she stay alive underwater?”

“I tried to stay alive underwater once,” said Bill. “I was pretending I was a fish. I like fish. Especially salmon. With lemon. I don’t like lemons though; they’re too sour. Oh, but I like Shock Tarts. They’re shocktastic!”

John grabbed Bill and roughly shoved his head underwater. He held it there for a few minutes in a half-hearted attempt to drown his insufferable companion, then gave up and decided to dive in himself.

“Wish me luck!” he called.

Jeannine began, “Good lu –”

“I wasn’t talking to you,” said John curtly. “No, not you either, Bill. I was talking to that tree over there. I care more about what that tree thinks than I do about either of you. Well, down I go!”

CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN

2008-02-08T23:23:00.000-08:00

XLVII
“Excuse me, sir, I would like to fly a plane to an island off the coast of South America, please,” said Mischa to the first uniformed person he saw at the airport.

“I’m just a janitor; I don’t have the authority to give planes to people impersonating pilots,” said the man. “Try the security guard.”

“Thank you, Comrade!” replied Mischa.

He ran over to the security guard the janitor had been pointing to, Rupert close behind. Rupert grabbed Mischa by the shoulder right before they reached him.

“You’d better let me do the talking. I’m better at it than you are,” he said.

“Good thinking, Comrade. I will wait beside you quietly,” responded Mischa.

“Sir,” said Rupert to the guard, “my friend and I are impersonating pilots, and we want to fly a plane to an island off the coast of South America. Can you help us?”

“Yeah, sure.”

One hour later, they sat in the cockpit of an airliner, preparing to take it to the remote island containing the volcano in which they’d find the stem cell research clinic they so desperately sought.

But then, about a minute before takeoff, Mischa realized a fatal error in his plan: he didn’t know how to fly a plane. Mischa had just assumed he could fly planes well.

Luckily, it turned out he could. Within a few hours of takeoff, they were well on their way to that nameless island.

“I sure hope that island has an airport,” said Mischa, the thought just having struck him. “If not, we will have nowhere to land!”

“Don’t worry about it,” reassured Rupert. “If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s finding airports in places they may or may not exist. Not a skill I use often, but when I do, the results are spectacular.”

“Oh, good,” said Mischa, placated. “Would you like to fly for a while?”

“No.”

Unbeknownst to the two travelers, this plane had some passengers who weren’t very amenable to the notion of being hijacked. Well, just one. He was actually the only passenger, and he was none other than –

“Captain Arousing! What are you doing here?” demanded Mischa as Captain Arousing burst into the cockpit.

“After you killed me, I swore revenge,” said the captain. “I’ve been following you this whole time, waiting for the opportunity to strike.”

“Oh, I see,” said Mischa. “So…is this that opportunity?”

“No, not yet. Now I’m just saying hey. All right, I’ll be back in the plane if you need me,” said Captain Arousing, turning around.

Suddenly, Rupert interjected, “Wait a minute: if you’re dead, how come you’re so alive? That doesn’t make sense at all!”

“You got that right!” agreed Captain Arousing.

He departed, leaving Mischa and Rupert almost as perplexed as when they first met the talking purple mountain. Not quite though. More hours passed.

“You killed someone?” asked Rupert. “That’s pretty impressive. I never would’ve considered you manly enough to kill somebody. On the other hand, he did come back to life, or something, so you didn’t really do a good job.”

“I did not want to kill him, Comrade. My companions at the time forced me to in order to prove that I was loyal,” answered Mischa. “Ironically enough, they are the ones against whom we will be fighting in that great battle.”

“What was that?” asked Rupert. “I wasn’t paying attention; you never say anything interesting, so I’ve developed a habit of tuning you out whenever you start talking.”

“Oh,” replied Mischa, hurt. “Well I guess it isn’t important then.”

They flew on in silence for a while, Mischa too scared of saying anything to offend his friend, and Rupert too scared of making Mischa think they were really friends. Finally, Rupert spotted something out the window.

“Hey!” he cried. “There’s a volcano!”

“Is it active, Comrade?” inquired Mischa.

“Well, it’s pretty hard to – ah look, it’s erupting! I think that answers your question. Come on, let’s land at that airport I suddenly see.”

CHAPTER FORTY SIX

2008-02-06T17:45:00.000-08:00

XLVI
John, having defeated Wendel, was immediately declared a great hero among his people, the best king ever to have lived. Within seconds of the monster’s death, a spy behind an arras ran upstairs to tell Pompetus the wonderful news, and presently he came hurrying down with many attendants. Proud Pompetus boldly bade them promptly prepare a fantastic feast to celebrate John’s valiant victory.

“But we ate just a few hours ago,” protested someone whose name isn’t important.

“Your opinion matters even less than your name,” proclaimed Pompetus, kicking him toward the kitchens. Then, turning to John, he said, “Well, my King, you performed quite admirably! Your killing Wendel will doubtless free us from the terror of Wendel.”

“Yes, I know these things already. I’m a genius, remember? I know everything,” said John.

“Of course, of course, my Lord; forgive my insolence. Now, here are those daisies you wanted,” said Pompetus, handing John the potted plants. “I think you’ll find them more than adequate!”

“Oh, I don’t want daisies anymore. I just remembered that I only came here to recruit men for a great battle,” said John. “I need a hundred, because I’m not using Jeannine, what with her being a woman; and I’m not using Bill, because he’s an idiot.”

“No I’m not,” retorted Bill. “My mom says I’m…oh wait, did you say idiot? Never mind.”

Pompetus rudely pushed Bill to the side and shot him a glance of contempt. He took a seat – John’s seat – at the dining table (it had already been moved back) and looked up at his king with a fulsome smile.

“I am sorry, my Lord, but we do not have a hundred men to spare. I will give you what I can, but first, we must enjoy this wonderful feast!” insisted Pompetus.

At that moment, dozens of chefs came out of the kitchen holding platters of marvelous food. Somehow they’d managed to cook it all in under five minutes.

“Would you like to sit next to me, John?” asked Jeannine seductively.

“Are you still here?” asked John. “Make yourself useful and knit something.”

“I love knitting!” exclaimed Bill. “My mom says that I’m the best knitting helper she’s ever had. This one time she was knitting a sweater, and she dropped a pin and asked me to pick it up, and so I was on the floor looking for it and then I pricked myself with it. It hurt.”

They all sat down to eat, although nobody was very hungry. Jeannine kept trying to move closer to John, who kept skirting away. Finally, they finished, and Pompetus stood.

“Attention, Danish brothers. As you probably know, John, our King, just killed the demon Wendel, thereby freeing us from his ghoulish grasp. We therefore pledge to him all that we can spare: twenty of our finest men! And thirty more, who…aren’t quite as good. But what they lack in skill, they almost make up for in spirit!”

“Well, thank you…Pompetus, was it?” said John, wiping his mouth on Bill’s shirtsleeve. “Now, I’d like to take this opportunity to thank you all, my loyal subjects, for your continued –”

But John was interrupted by three loud knocks on the castle door. Someone was there. Someone was mad.

CHAPTER FORTY FIVE

2008-02-04T08:54:00.000-08:00

XLV
Mischa and Rupert had wasted another week or so searching for a laboratory where they’d be able to carry out their new plan. The idea of cloning themselves had seemed very good at the time, but it turned out to be a bit harder to get done than either of them had anticipated. After many tedious searches through phone books and the internet, they found what they were looking for on a library computer: a stem cell research clinic.

There was, however, a catch. There’s always a catch. This clinic, unlike most clinics, just so happened to be located in the middle of an active volcano, which created quite a problem, what with the lava.

“I do not think we will be able to get to this clinic, Comrade,” said Mischa sadly. “How would we get into an active volcano? It seems impossible.”

“Simple!” replied Rupert. “With these.”

He held out his hand and – very slowly, to build suspense – opened it, revealing two ordinary-looking metal spheres. Mischa looked at them for a while, then turned back to Rupert, puzzled.

“What are these, Comrade?” asked Mischa. “They appear to be ordinary spheres. I do like spheres, but I fail to see how these could help us.”

“These aren’t just any spheres, Mischa. These are high-powered explosives,” said Rupert, “strong enough to punch a hole through ten feet of solid titanium.”

“Wow, that is impressive! But, how will these help us get into clinic?” questioned Mischa.

“We’ll throw these down into the volcano. The resulting explosion is almost guaranteed to trigger an eruption,” explained Rupert calmly.

“Wouldn’t the eruption just melt the clinic, though?” asked Mischa.

“What? Hm, I suppose it would. I don’t know why I thought that would work. Oh well, I’m fresh out of ideas. Wake me up if you think of something, Mischa” said Rupert, lying down on the library floor.

“Why are you going to sleep, Comrade? It is only 3:00 PM,” asked Mischa.

“I’m well aware.”

And with that, Rupert was asleep, leaving Mischa all alone for the time being. He stood up and started pacing around the library. Pacing always helped him think.

He knew that in order to raise an army, he and Rupert would need to clone themselves. He knew that in order to reach the stem cell research clinic, they would need to get into that active volcano. And he knew that in order to get into the active volcano, they would need a plan.

Unfortunately, he had no idea how to go about making one. Mischa had been trained to follow orders his entire life: first from his parents, then Josiah, then John. But now he was the leader, and he was confused.

“I’ve got it!” he shouted. “I’ll just use my freeze ray! Hey, Rupert, wake up! We have a volcano-located stem cell research clinic to enter!”

Rupert woke up, and the two ran out of the library, stealing as many books as they could carry, for no reason at all. They searched around for planes departing soon, and a mere two days later they set off for the airport.

The volcano containing the clinic was located on a remote island off the coast of South America, so it would be a rather long flight – and expensive. Mischa and Rupert couldn’t afford a ticket, so they had to think of a way to get on that plane.

“Let us pretend that we are pilots, Comrade!” suggested Mischa. “That way, we will be able to get onto the plane without purchasing a ticket.”

“But neither of us knows how to fly a plane, Mischa. Won’t that be a problem?”

“No, it won’t.”

CHAPTER FORTY FOUR

2008-02-02T20:13:00.000-08:00

XLIV
John lay awake in the dining room of his palace. Bill and Jeannine were with him, along with the castle guards who had so far managed to survive Wendel’s attacks, brave men still loyal to their king. Pompetus had left after the feast, claiming he had laundry to do, wishing John the best of luck and reassuring him that even if he were to die, he could take comfort in the knowledge that Pompetus would be his successor.

The maintenance staff of the palace had cleared out the expansive, expensive dining table, leaving the room completely bare, except for all the people. John wanted nothing to hinder his combat.

Then, when darkness dropped, Wendel went up to the palace, wondering what the warriors would do in that hall when their drinking was done. He found them sprawled in sleep, suspecting nothing, their dreams undisturbed.

He slowly approached one of the sleeping guards, lifted him with one hand and, with the other, tore the poor man’s head off effortlessly. Blood erupted from the wound, and Wendel drank his fill. Completely satisfied, he growled contentedly and dropped the corpse.

But then he got thirsty again, so he went over to John, who was playing solitaire. Bill kept trying to join in, despite John’s continuing protests.

Although a great way to pass the time, solitaire was a big mistake; as a result of this engrossing game, John failed to notice that Wendel was staring right at him. After a while, Wendel grew irritated with his prey’s indifference; after all, the whole “evil monster” thing was just a cry for attention.

He gave a little cough. John didn’t notice. Scowling, he coughed again, louder, this time stamping his foot concertedly.

“Are you all right?” asked John, nonchalantly glancing up at the foul fiend.

“Yes. But you’re not. Because I’m going to eat you!” cried the monster, lunging forward and making a grab for John.

“Well hang on, there’s a little flaw in your logic there,” said John, nimbly dodging aside. “It really doesn’t make much sense. I mean, you said I’m not all right because you’re going to eat me. Now when you said that, you had yet to eat me, meaning that at the time of your statement, I was all right. A more appropriate response would have been something like ‘Yes. But you won’t be for long, even though you appear to be all right at the moment.’ By changing over to future tense, you not only would have been correct; you also would’ve come across as far more determined and intimidating. And so on and so forth. You see?”

“Oh, well, I suppose you have a point there,” replied the monster. “Thanks, I’ll keep all that in mind. Anyway, now it’s time for you to die!”

“Ah, well I thought it might come to that. Sorry Wendel, but I’m afraid I can’t let you kill me. I’m far too smart to die,” said John.

“If you’re so smart, how come you’re…umm…” started Wendel.

“Yes?” pressed John.

“I’ll think of something! Just give me a minute, will you?” snapped the fiend. “Okay. If you’re so smart, how come I’m killing you right now?!”

Wendel lunged for John again, and John once more dodged to the side. He shook his head, looking down at the monster with sheer disappointment on his face.

“Okay, now, you just did it again!” said John, annoyed. “First of all, your killing me has absolutely nothing to do with my intelligence. And secondly, even if it did, thus far you’ve proven totally incapable of doing so. You’re a very ineffective monster, you know.”

“You think so?” asked Wendel with the utmost sincerity. “Well…do you have any suggestions on how I could, you know, improve?”

“For starters,” said John, “you should stop attacking my kingdom. Really, there are other kingdoms out there. Try France. Nobody likes France.”

“I like –”

“Shut up, Bill. And then, after a few years of plundering and terrorizing, maybe you could drop the monster thing entirely. I remember back when you were just a human, Wendel. That worked out fine for you, didn’t it? You really need to ask yourself, ‘Am I happier now than I was before?’ I’m pretty sure the answer will be no.”

“Your eloquence is impressive. You’ve made some extremely good points; I haven’t questioned myself so much in years. All right, I’ll do it! I’ll give up being a monster!”

And with that, the foul fiend Wendel was defeated, because as he was walking away, John shot him in the back with a rocket launcher.

CHAPTER FORTY THREE

2008-01-31T19:14:00.000-08:00

XLIII
Mischa and Rupert, as per the mountain’s prophesy, had been traveling east for weeks, but they hadn’t encountered anybody since their meeting with the purple mountain, nor had they seen anything other than vast, empty desert.

“You know, Comrade, I am beginning to think that maybe that mountain gave us some bad information,” said Mischa.

“I said that yesterday,” grumbled Rupert as he kicked a rock out of his way. “Why don’t you ever say anything original?”

There was absolutely nothing around them; they were in the middle of a barren, inhospitable wasteland. The only living things they could see were vultures, and even those were lying supine on the ground, motionless and dead. Now that I think about it, I don’t think they can be considered living.

Rupert, who despite working for Mischa was clearly leading the expedition, decided to stop walking around noon, because the sun was getting far too hot for either of them to endure. In reality though, it was only too hot for Mischa to endure, because Rupert was inured to such hot conditions, having once survived in the middle of the Sahara without food or water for a month, during the course of which he developed quite a taste for tumbleweed. But that’s a story for another day.

They constructed a makeshift shelter out of sand and heat and were getting ready to relax, when all of a sudden, Mischa spotted something that seemed quite out of place: a gigantic purple mountain.

Yes, it was the same mountain they’d seen earlier. The two men were flabbergasted; after all, there are few things odder than a talking purple mountain, but if anything is, it’s a talking purple mountain that can travel vast distances instantaneously.

“Comrade, do you see what I see?” asked Mischa.

“I think I do, Mischa. I think I do,” answered Rupert. “Unless you have visual problems, in which case you probably see something different from what I see. But I’ll just assume your eyesight is decent...in spite of the rest of you.”

The two (well, just Rupert again…Mischa’s not much of a leader) decided to approach the mountain and ask it two things: what it was doing, and how it got there. Before they were halfway to it, however, the mountain spoke.

“I JUST REMEMBERED THAT I MEANT TO SAY WEST, NOT EAST. SORRY ABOUT THAT.”

And with that, the mountain vanished, leaving Mischa and Rupert feeling a mixture of extreme confusion and extreme annoyance. They ran up to it, nearly passing out from the exertion, searching every crevice, every crater, for some sign that the mountain had been there. They found nothing.

“Well, I guess we should start going west,” suggested Rupert, shaking his head as if to make sense of what had just occurred.

“Yes, that sounds good. Let us go!” agreed Mischa, and they set off once more…in the opposite direction.

Having traveled for so long, the next few weeks were spent retracing their earlier steps, and it was so boring that the men were almost driven to cannibalism just to break the monotony. Finally though, they reached the point where they’d first encountered the purple mountain, and sure enough, there it was, sitting alone (as mountains do) beside the valley.

“Hello Comrade,” called Mischa. “We have returned, just as you told us to!”

“WHAT DO YOU WANT?” spat the mountain. “I WAS WATCHING THAT’S SO RAVEN.”

“How is that even possible?” wondered Rupert. “You clearly don’t have a TV, and even if you did, there’s no conceivable way you’d get cable. I have a sneaking suspicion you’re lying – like a Communist.”

“I’M A TALKING PURPLE MOUNTAIN; I DON’T HAVE TO MAKE SENSE. SO WHY ARE YOU IDIOTS HERE?” retorted the mountain.

“You came to us in the desert and told us to come west!” said Mischa. “So we backtracked, and now we are here again.”

“NO, I DIDN’T DO THAT. YOU MUST HAVE SEEN A MIRAGE. OR MAYBE YOU’RE JUST INSANE. I DON’T KNOW. I DON’T REALLY CARE, EITHER. I MEAN, I’M A MOUNTAIN. WHY WOULD I?”

Mischa and Rupert looked at each other, mouths hanging wide open, for a long while. The year was moving onward and they still needed to find 99 more soldiers.

Not only had they wasted many weeks going backward, but now it looked as though they’d have to waste even more time just to get back to where they’d already been.

“Let’s just clone ourselves 99 times,” suggested Rupert.

“Good idea, Comrade.”

CHAPTER FORTY TWO

2008-01-29T16:52:00.000-08:00

XLII
John, Bill and Jeannine followed the man who had approached their vehicle into the now-ravaged palace. John was appalled by the sheer magnitude of the damage that had been done in so short a time, mostly because he didn’t think his insurance would cover it.
He demanded an explanation, but the man guiding them couldn’t talk; he just led them inexorably onward, toward what had previously been Claudius’s throne room.

Inside of it, a group of guards in tattered rags, with bent and broken weapons, stood miserably in a circle, talking to each other in low voices. When John entered the room, they stood at attention. He was, after all, their king.

The man who had led them there turned to John, inhaled deeply, and finally said, “Welcome to what remains of your kingdom, my King. I am Pompetus, a random vassal.”

“What happened here?!” shouted John. “What could have done this to my palace? It’s not like I was gone for long. Are you people that incompetent, that you can’t hold a kingdom together for two weeks?”

“A kingdom without a king is a kingdom most vulnerable, King John. Immediately after you departed, a savage fiend came to us in the night and slaughtered forty men,” said Pompetus.
“Well, you can’t spell slaughter without laughter!” offered Bill helpfully.

“We tried to fight him, but our weapons did no damage. Even our sharpest blades couldn’t pierce his wretched skin,” he continued.

“Why didn’t you use guns? We have plenty of them,” said John. “And why do you have swords at all? That’s just stupid.”

“Ah! AH! You see? This is why we need a king! We never would have thought of that,” said Pompetus. “Your majesty, now that you have finally arrived, you must purge your kingdom of this evil. Then you will truly be beloved.”

“What are you talking about? I’m already beloved! Brilliant, handsome, strong – who wouldn’t like me?” challenged John, taking great comfort in Jeannine’s vigorous nods of agreement.

“Well, you are a bit arrogant, my Lord,” said Pompetus cautiously.

“Insolent fool, I’m not arrogant; I’m just better than everyone. Oh, but I wouldn’t expect you to understand. After all, I’m like a god to you people,” said John. “All right, I’ll slay this monster. I’ll slay it dead. What is it, anyway? Dragon? Giant? Robot?”

“It is no ordinary beast. Indeed, you actually used to know this monster personally, my Lord,” explained Pompetus. “You see, he was once human: a great friend to our kingdom. He grew up here. He was your closest childhood companion, if I recall correctly. But alas, under Claudius’s reign he was stricken with acne, and poor eyesight; and he developed an unhappy addiction to tabletop role-playing games. Claudius banished him, and that was his end…or so we thought. This monster is the apotheosis of nerdy darkness: the foul creature Wendel.”

“WENDEL?” blurted out John. “Wendel Berenbaumstein, evil? You must be mad! I demand some sort of proof. If you can’t prove it, I don’t believe it.”

“Well, he’s eating that man over there, right behind you,” said Pompetus. “You’d see it if you’d turn your head a little bit.”

“That evidence is pretty hard to ignore, John,” said Jeannine.

“I’m sure it is, but I’m far too important to turn my head and look,” snapped John. “And Bill! What the hell are you – no, not on the floor, you – dammit, Bill!”

“Er…sorry to interrupt, Sir, but aren’t you going to stop him or something?” asked Pompetus.

“Stop Bill?” asked John. “No, I’ve found it’s a losing battle trying to control that moron. This one time, he –”

“No, my Lord, I’m talking about Wendel,” said the vassal.

“Oh, right. Fine, I’ll kill him – but only on one condition,” said John.

“What is it, my King?” asked Pompetus.

“Give me those potted daisies I saw in the courtyard,” commanded John.

Pompetus was perplexed, but he couldn’t find any harm in that request, so he agreed. Little did he realize that it would be the last thing he would ever agree to…

Because he was, by nature, extremely contentious and rarely agreed with anyone about anything. He doesn’t die, though, if that’s what you were thinking. It probably was, wasn’t it?

CHAPTER FORTY ONE

2008-01-27T13:48:00.000-08:00

XLI
Mischa and Rupert were travelling across Europe, trying to find more warriors for the impending battle. They had become very close friends – comrades, if you will – despite their vast, vast differences. For example, Mischa was a Communist whereas Rupert had sworn a blood oath to brutalize all Communists.

Nonetheless, they forged a friendship, probably due to Mischa’s strategy for not getting Rupert to kill him: lying. Mischa had been well trained in the art of lying, having been forced to agree with everything Josiah said, even when he thought differently.

So onward they walked, neither one having enough money for faster, more efficient means of transportation. One morning, they came upon a valley through which they had to pass in order to get to their (as of yet undecided) destination.

“Comrade!” shouted Mischa, “I do not think we will be able to get through this valley without walking along the base of this mountain. But look! There is something very strange about it!”

Indeed, it was a very strange mountain, probably the strangest one ever. The first thing they noticed about this flamboyantly eccentric mountain was that it was bright purple. Not many mountains are purple at all, and bright purple? Forget about it. Also, it had a face, and it was quite obviously breathing. That’s pretty strange too.

“WHO DARES DISTURB MY SLUMBER?” demanded the (evidently) living mountain. “I WAS DREAMING ABOUT PUPPIES.”

Mischa and Rupert were taken aback, clearly not having expected the mountain to start talking. They also vaguely wondered how they’d disturbed its slumber, still being at least a mile away and not having talked especially loudly.

“We m-mean you n-no harm, Comrade!” said Mischa, his voice regaining the tremulousness usually reserved for conversations with Josiah. “We j-just want to p-pass through the valley!”

“YOU…YOU JUST WANT TO LEAVE?” asked the mountain. “YOU DON’T WANT TO STAY AND TALK OR SOMETHING? NOT MANY PEOPLE PASS THROUGH HERE. IT GETS LONELY BEING A HOMICIDAL PURPLE MOUNTAIN.”

“Wait, a what?” demanded Rupert.

“PURPLE MOUNTAIN. I’M A PURPLE MOUNTAIN. I CAN ALSO PREDICT THE FUTURE. WANT ME TO?” asked the mountain who, not waiting for a response, continued, “YOU MUST TRAVEL TO THE EAST. THERE YOU SHALL FIND WHAT YOU SEEK. PRETTY COOL, HUH? ONLY I CAN DO THAT. THE OTHER TALKING MOUNTAINS SUCK AT FORTUNE TELLING.”

It paused for a moment, then said, “WELL? GO AWAY.”

“Err…okay, Comrade. Thank you!” called Mischa, hurrying past the mountain with Rupert.

They walked for a few more miles, eager to put as much distance between themselves and the rentsy purple mountain as possible. At length they passed a felled tree, which they decided to sit on for a moment, to rest.

“Do you think we should listen to that mountain?” asked Rupert. “It seems to know what it’s talking about.”

“We might as well, Comrade. After all, why would a mountain lie?” responded Mischa. “Besides, we were going east anyway, so it’s not like it makes a difference.”

“You have a point there, Mischa,” said Rupert. “Like the point of this knife, which I’ve driven into the hearts of many a Communist!”

“That is a spoon, Comrade,” said Mischa.

“Oh. So it is. That certainly explains why they never die.”

“Indeed! Now, let us keep going,” urged Mischa.

And the two companions merrily skipped away.

CHAPTER FORTY

2008-01-25T19:03:00.000-08:00

XL
John, Bill and Jeannine were driving back to Denmark in a truck they’d stolen. They had a year to find a hundred soldiers, and John figured that, what with his being the rightful king of Denmark, he’d have no trouble finding some there.

“Being the rightful king of Denmark, I’ll have no trouble getting soldiers to fight for me,” he explained to Bill, whose head was hanging out the window.

“But John,” said Jeannine, “in your absence, the people may have elected a new king. They’re very impatient, you know. I’d say there’s a decent chance that you’ll no longer have power there.”

“Nonsense, why would they do a silly thing like that? I’m the only leader Denmark will ever need,” asserted John. “Besides, they owe me for getting rid of Claudius. Even on the off chance they have a new king already, they’re bound to give me the men I need out of sheer gratitude for killing that horrible fiend.”

“I probably should have told you this before you killed him, but Claudius was the most beloved king Denmark ever had. Your father, on the other hand, regularly executed peasants for his own amusement,” said Jeannine.

“Are you saying Claudius was a better king than my father?” demanded John. “Because that’s sure what it sounds like. And I never misinterpret things.”

They drove into a pothole, causing Bill (who wasn’t wearing a seatbelt) to fly head-first out the window. John didn’t stop.

“No, no! Of course not! Well yes,” said Jeannine quickly.

Now John stopped the car, turning to stare threateningly at the woman so unreasonably infatuated with him. When he spoke, it was slowly and deliberately, with menacing emphasis placed on every syllable.

“I respectfully disagree.”

He drove on. After a few miles, John and Jeannine spotted Bill on the side of the road, waving to them.

“How the hell does he keep doing that?” wondered John as he stopped to let the garbage man enter.

“Hey guys! What’s up? Did you see that cloud that looked like a faucet? Wow, it was so cool! Just like me. My mom says I’m the coolest –”

John nodded to Jeannine, who put a large piece of duct tape over Bill’s mouth as John started up the truck once more. Unfortunately for them, Bill was immune to duct tape.

“Anyway, where were we?” John asked.

“You’d just asked me out,” replied Jeannine, figuring she might as well take the opportunity.

“No, that can’t be right. I’d never do that,” said John plainly.

“You know, you’re very unresponsive to my advances,” noted Jeannine with just a hint of bitterness in her voice.

“Yes, well, you’re very ugly,” said John.

They drove on in silence until they reached Denmark, that is, unless you count Bill’s rambling. John didn’t have time to listen, however; he drove straight to the palace, which he was later shocked to learn was not at all as he remembered it.

His castle was in ruins. Dead bodies littered the courtyard and the once magnificent tower was dented and crumbling. A dense fog surrounded the building, foreboding and cruel.

“What happened here?” asked John, aghast.

A man ran up to their truck, and John rolled down his window, awaiting some sort of explanation.

“King John!” he cried. “You must – a terrible – horrible – I can’t – follow me!”

“He can’t follow himself?” asked Bill. “That’s just stupid!”

“Not as stupid as you,” muttered John.

“What?”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Oh.”

CHAPTER THIRTY NINE

2008-01-23T17:10:00.000-08:00

XXXIX
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.

CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT

2008-01-21T20:53:00.000-08:00

XXXVIII
The stage was set. John and Mischa each had one year to gather a hundred companions for battle. They would fight in the Coliseum for glory, honor, and the lovely Cyprus Papandrou.

This setup, however, caused quite a few problems. For one, John and Mischa were supposed to be on the same side; very little could be gained from their fighting each other. For another, they were playing right into the hands of Josiah Malum, their sworn nemesis, and both of them knew it. Thirdly, this left Bill and Jeannine very conflicted, as they didn’t know whom to follow.

“There is only one fair way to do this, Comrade. We will let them decide which of us they wish to travel with,” suggested Mischa.

“John,” said Bill and Jeannine in perfect unison.

“Oh…” said a subdued Mischa. “Because I was hoping that perhaps one of you would accompany me.”

“You would hope for something like that. Come on Bill, Jeannine. We have an army to raise!” said John, confidently strutting out of the Coliseum.

“I do feel kind of bad leaving Mischa with nobody like that,” said Jeannine. “After all, he isn’t a bad person.”

“Stop talking, Jeannine.”

“All right.”

Mischa watched them walk away for a long, long time, then turned to Josiah, dejected. And trembling, of course. He trembled a lot.

“S-sir?” he began. “Do you think that m-maybe you could provide someone to ac-company me?”

“No. Get out of here!” commanded Josiah. “I finally have time to carry out my evil plan, and I’m not going to waste it talking to you.”

“What w-was that plan again, Mr. Malum?” inquired Mischa.

“I’m not telling you; you betrayed me! Oh, but it’s so evil I almost want to reveal it to everyone. In fact, it’s probably grown even more evil since I last thought about it. That’s how evil is, Mischa – like wine. It gets finer with age!” explained Josiah. “Now leave before I shoot off your kneecaps.”

Mischa trudged out of the Coliseum. He could see John and Jeannine off in the distance, laughing at Bill’s ridiculous antics. He let out a sigh.

“Abused by my boss, then rejected by my friends. I will win this battle, no matter what the cost! That will show everyone,” he said determinedly. “Nobody will kick around Mischa Petrovitch anymore!”

He started running, though he didn’t know whither. After a few hours he stopped, realizing that he had absolutely no idea where he was. Looking left and right, he saw an extremely well-muscled man walking toward him. He carried a bowie knife in one hand and was dressed in military camouflage.

Mischa’s heart skipped a beat. Finally, a ray of hope had appeared, in the form of a scowling wanderer.

“Hey you!” called Mischa. “Would you like to be in my army?”

“Yeah, sure,” replied the man. “My name’s Rupert. I’m a mercenary soldier. I specialize in battles fought over a beautiful woman, and I work best in groups of about a hundred.”

“Wow! Who would have thought that the first person I encountered would be so suitable?” wondered Mischa aloud.

“Who are you talking to?” asked Rupert.

“I was just thinking out loud, Comrade,” replied Mischa.

“You’re not a Communist, are you? My father was killed by Communists back in the Cold War. At his funeral, I swore to myself that I’d kill any Commie I met,” said Rupert, baring his teeth menacingly.

“No, I come from America, Comrade,” said Mischa.

“Really? You don’t sound very American,” countered Rupert.

“But I assure you, I am as American as…apple pie, and borscht!” insisted Mischa.

“Well, I do love a big bowl of borscht. All right, I’ll help you with your battle,” said Rupert. “But I’ll need payment.”

“What do you require, Comrade?” asked Mischa.

“Your SOUL!”

“My – my soul?” asked Mischa cautiously.

“I didn’t say soul. I said $20. I need to buy myself a steak.”

“I am sorry, Comrade. I do not think I can afford that,” said Mischa, disappointed. “All I have on me is $4.25.”

Rupert stood contemplating that for a moment.

“I guess I’ll take it. God, I’m hungry. Come on, Mischa; let’s get going.”

“How do you know my name?”

“Lucky guess.”

CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN

2008-01-19T17:43:00.000-08:00

XXXVII
After departing from the Coliseum with Jeannine and Bill, John decided to rent a hotel room, where he could start formulating plans to woo that beautiful woman, despite not knowing her name.

“You know John, I really think you ought to focus on Josiah,” said Jeannine. “This woman is clearly just a distraction, like that Red Herring you told me about.”

“That was yummy!” interjected Bill.

“Jeannine, I’ll do my job and you do yours,” said John.

“But my job is to do your job. Your old job, anyway.”

“Right. Because I have a new job: winning over that woman!”

“You don’t even know her name, do you?” asked Jeannine.

“I’m sure I’ll figure it out!” retorted John. “I’ll hear no more of this. Bill, come on, let’s see what we can think up. On second thought, let’s see what I can think up, and whether you can stay quiet long enough for me not to pray for death.”

“Okay!”

John and Bill retired to one corner of the room, leaving Jeannine alone. She set to work on her
anti-Josiah plans and didn’t stop until dawn, when she was startled by a ringing telephone. As it turned out, John was expected at the Coliseum at noon. It was a personal invitation from none other than Josiah Malum.

“This is highly suspicious,” said John, after Jeannine told him about the call. “That man has tried to kill me on numerous occasions. It would probably be in my best interest not to go, but really, where’s the fun in that?”

“Hey guys,” said Bill, crawling in through the window. “Boy, wait till I tell you about all the crazy adventures I had last night!”

“That’ll have to wait, Bill,” said John. “We’re going to the Coliseum! No, not you, Jeannine; that woman might be there, and I don’t want her to think I’m already in a relationship.”

Jeannine, glowering, sighed. Bill and John left the hotel, inexplicably opting to walk instead of taking some sort of vehicle.

“Why are we going to the Coliseum?” asked Bill.

“Because Josiah Malum asked me to,” replied John. “That’s our ostensible purpose. Really, I’m just going to see that woman again.”

“But why are we listening to Josiah Malum?” asked Bill.

“Oh, it’s quite simple, for someone whose intellect is as massive as mine. You see, upon receiving that message, I figured Josiah was trying to lead me into a trap. But I know he’s too smart for something that simple; he probably sent that message being fully aware that I’d suspect a trap. So he doesn’t actually expect me to show up – meaning not going is actually the trap he’s trying to lead me into. Therefore, by walking into the original trap, I’m actually avoiding the real one. Got that?”

Bill passed out from mental exhaustion, so John grabbed him by the arm and pulled him the rest of the way to the Coliseum.

When they arrived, they were led by a guard into the arena, where Josiah stood at a podium. Mischa was standing in chains to his left, and Cyprus stood beside him.

“Welcome, Mr. Morgan. I knew you’d know I didn’t think you’d come, so I was ready,” said Josiah.

“Damn! He was one step ahead,” cursed John. “Well, what do you want, Malum? I have flowers to water.”

“It’s quite simple. You are attracted to Miss Papandrou, aren’t you?” he asked. “Yes, of course you are. I don’t need to be a mind reader (which, apropos, Cyprus is) to know that. Oddly enough, Mischa is also in love with her. I propose a contest!”

“A contest? What kind of contest?” asked Bill, who had unfortunately regained consciousness.

“Battle,” replied Josiah. “John and Mischa are going to fight for Cyprus’s hand in marriage!"

“Marriage?! I never agreed to –”

“Silence! Anyway John, you and Mischa will each put together an army. Then you shall do battle, right here; and the winner will marry Cyprus,” explained Josiah.

“What’s in it for you?” asked John skeptically.

“Well obviously, in the time you spend putting together your team, I’ll be able to carry out that evil plan of mine you keep thwarting,” said Josiah.

“Fair enough. Very well, I agree to this contest,” said John.

“Excellent,” replied Josiah. “Then it is decided: you and Mischa shall each construct a team of one hundred men, and you’ll return here in one hundred years to fight!”

“A hundred years?” asked John.

“Oh, sorry, I read that wrong. One year,” said Josiah, correcting himself.

“Because a hundred would be too many.”

“Right.”

CHAPTER THIRTY SIX

2008-01-17T19:46:00.000-08:00

XXXVI
Unfortunately for John, Josiah was not like Claudius. Instead of relying on an archaic “spy-behind-the-arras” system, he had placed surveillance cameras all around the city, and he monitored them constantly. As a result, he was aware within minutes of John’s new plan to kill him: having Jeannine do it instead.

Josiah knew that he obviously couldn’t allow anyone to kill him, so the plan had to be stopped; but he was reluctant to waste so much time foiling a single assassination attempt. Instead he set to work devising a scheme that would kill two birds with one stone. The other bird, of course, was Mischa.

“Maybe if I…no, that won’t work,” he thought to himself. “There has to be a simple way to punish Mischa for his apostasy while simultaneously killing John and his friends!”

Cyprus, beautiful as ever, entered the room and sat down next to her new boss. She had brought him hot cocoa, his favorite beverage.

Setting it down in front of him, she said, “Perhaps you should make two plans, Mr. Malum. It would certainly be easier.”

“How did you know what I was – oh, right, the telepathy. I’m very uncomfortable with that, you know,” said Josiah.

“Yes, I know,” replied Cyprus.

“But how could you – ah, yes, of course…how silly of me. Anyway, no, I can’t just make two plans. What kind of loser would make two plans? That’s the coward’s way out, Cyprus. And Josiah Malum is no coward!” he yelled, lighting a cigarette.

“Is that why you sleep with a night light?” asked Cyprus.

“I don’t have a night light because I’m afraid, you fool! I just don’t want to trip if I get up and have to go to the bathroom, or something,” explained Josiah. “That would be inconvenient, and Josiah Malum does not like inconvenience!”

“You’re lying. I can tell,” said Cyprus.

“Ha! How would you be able to know whether I’m telling the truth or lying?” demanded Josiah.
“Because I’m psychic?” said Cyprus impatiently.

“I can’t believe I forgot that again. Well, the point is, I need to find one plan that will accomplish both of my goals: stopping John, thereby clearing the way for my evil plan; and tormenting Mischa, thereby making me happy,” said Josiah. “And I’m having far more trouble than an evil genius of my caliber should.”

“Come with me,” said Cyprus. “I know just the thing to give you back your inspiration. And don’t bother asking how I know. I’m psychic.”

Josiah said nothing, instead choosing – for the first time in his life – to obey an underling. He followed Cyprus down to the dungeon, the very dungeon Mischa still inhabited.

“That’s perfect! Terrifying Mischa always gave me magnificent ideas. I like the way you think, Cyprus,” complimented Josiah.

“You’re such a simple man, Josiah,” replied Cyprus. “You’re not going to terrify Mischa; you can’t! If you do it, you’ll be defeating the whole purpose of this excursion.”

“Explain.”

“You have two goals: punishing Mischa and stopping John. You want to accomplish both with one masterful plan, to kill two birds with one stone. If you need to torture Mischa for inspiration, you’ll be killing one of those two birds already,” said Cyprus.

“Then why are we here, if I’m not allowed to torture Mischa yet?” demanded Josiah.

“I am going to torture Mischa.”

Cyprus smirked and opened the dungeon door. Inside they could see Mischa sitting there alone, staring at the courtyard. He was waiting for Cyprus to come into view again and was thus wonderfully shocked to see her walking through the door.

His elation was stymied, however, because Josiah walked in right behind her, a look of anticipation on his face the likes of which Mischa had never seen before.

“MISCHA!” he yelled. “Oh, that felt good.”

“Mr. M-malum!” shouted Mischa, terrified. “W-why am I b-being kept here? Who is that beautiful woman?”

“Stop asking questions, Mischa! She’s here to torture you, and I’m here to watch!” said Josiah, causing Mischa to cower away, whimpering. “I could do it myself, but I’m not going to, for reasons you’re not good enough to hear. Take it away, Cyprus!”

“Mischa, Mischa, Mischa: have I got a torture for you,” began Cyprus.

She reached into a bag and pulled out a rectangular box. Mischa’s eyes widened in apprehension, Josiah’s in joy.

“Do you know what this is, Mischa? It’s the movie Elektra. You’re going to watch it, beginning to end!”

His screams were heard for miles.

CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE

2008-01-15T19:36:00.000-08:00

XXXV
John, Bill, Mischa and Jeannine awoke the next morning, eager to continue their search for the whereabouts of Josiah Malum. Well, John was eager, anyway. Bill was too stupid to realize what was happening, Mischa would rather have died than been forced to see his boss again, and Jeannine was just hopelessly attracted to John. But John was eager – very eager.

They wandered around the city for a while before realizing that they had wandered around that precise area on the previous day. They also realized that they had absolutely no clue where to look or whom to ask. Defeated, they sat down on a park bench.

“This is hopeless, Comrades,” complained Mischa. “At this rate, we will never find Josiah. I think we should give up and stop looking for him and vow never to see him again!”

“No, that’s the loser’s way out, Mischa,” retorted John. “We’re going to keep looking and we’re going to find him.”

“Yeah! Whatever John just said!” agreed Bill.

Bill and Mischa began quarreling, giving John time to contemplate his next move. He decided to make use of the logic skills that only a US mailman would possess.

“If I were Josiah Malum, where would I – THE COLISEUM!” he yelled, suddenly standing up and running toward the immense stadium, which was conveniently mere inches away.

His three companions followed, and before long they stood at the entrance. As they walked through it, however, dozens of armed guards jumped out to block their path.

“We have been expecting you,” said one confidently. “You are all under arrest for conspiring against Josiah Malum. Please follow me to the dungeon.”

John decided to play along, and he gestured for the others to follow him.

“Comrade, are you sure that we should allow ourselves to be captured like this?” questioned Mischa.

“Yes, Mischa. I have a plan,” lied John.

The guards led them down to a small, dark dungeon, which only had one window. Through this window they could see a splendid, verdant courtyard, but not much else.

“Now the door here doesn’t lock, so you’re all on the honor system not to escape,” said the guard, leaving.

After a few hours of bickering and show tunes (the latter provided by Bill), Mischa noticed that someone was entering the courtyard. It was the most beautiful woman imaginable – Cyprus Papandrou.

She was sacrificing a live deer to one of her gods, and her ritualistic pagan dance was the loveliest thing Mischa could recall ever having seen. His heart began to race.

“Comrade! Look at that woman,” said Mischa, gesturing for John to look out the window.

“Wow, she’s really hot,” said John, to Jeannine’s great displeasure. “I’ve never seen someone drink blood so erotically!”

“She’s not that great,” said Jeannine bitterly. “Besides, it’s not like it really matters. We’re stuck here indefinitely, so neither of you will ever get a chance with her.”

“You have a point there,” said John dejectedly.

They stood there disappointed for a few more hours, at which point a guard came through the door holding a rolled piece of parchment in his hand. He unfurled it ostentatiously and read it.

“The boss says you’re all free. Except you,” he said, pointing at Mischa. “You have to stay here – FOREVER! And it says here that I’m supposed to laugh now, ‘for as long as necessary,’ but I’m gonna skip that part. I’m trying to get fired.”

The guard stood there for a moment, then turned around and left, and John, Bill and Jeannine followed him.

“Comrades!” called Mischa, “You are going to come back for me, right? Right, Comrades? Hello?”

When they were back aboveground, John turned to Jeannine. Bill had run off to chase after a car (he really liked the blue ones).

“Okay, here’s the new plan. I’m going to try to get that woman to go out with me, and you’re going to go kill Josiah for whatever reason we had. Got that?” he said.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather ask someone else out, John?” asked Jeannine, a prurient glint in her eye.

“Who? Bill? Are you insane?! Just stick to the plan, Jeannine!”

CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR

2008-01-13T13:25:00.000-08:00

XXXIV
The four arrived in Rome a week later; Jeannine insisted she needed the extra time to pack. Shortly after they got there, they began searching for Josiah, whom they had immense difficulty locating.

“We’ll never be able to stop him if we don’t know where he is,” said John. “We’ll keep looking tomorrow. I’m too tired tonight.”

“I wonder what he is doing here, Comrades,” pondered Mischa.

“All I know is what I already told you: he came to Rome in search of a new assistant. Whether he found one is anyone’s guess,” replied Jeannine. “I guess we’ll find out tomorrow.”

But you, lucky reader, are going to find out now. Having abandoned all hope of finding a competent assistant in America, Josiah had set up a base in the Coliseum, where he hoped to accomplish all of his remaining goals. The first was, as Jeannine had said, to find a new assistant.

“So why do you want to be my assistant, Mr. –”

“Graham. Doctor Graham.”

Josiah sat at an ancient, crumbling desk, across from a very pompous applicant, a man evidently named Doctor Graham. He was the first candidate to be interviewed.

“I’m a doctor,” continued the applicant.

“Yes, I was already aware of that, thank you,” replied Josiah.

“Well how could you possibly have known?” inquired the man.

“You introduced yourself as Doctor Graham!” said Josiah impatiently.

“Oh, no, no, no! Doctor is actually my first name. It’s purely coincidental that medicine also happens to be the occupational path I’ve chosen,” explained the doctor.

“So you’re Dr. Doctor Graham?” asked Josiah skeptically.

“Precisely.”

“Okay, well, I don’t think you’re quite what I’m looking for at this time. Get out of here before I have you murdered,” said Josiah abruptly. “Next!”

Doctor Graham sulked away bitterly and the next applicant sat down. This one was a woman, easily more beautiful than every other woman in the world combined and placed into a giant gem-encrusted swimming pool filled with gold and chocolate – GOOD chocolate, not the crap you’d get in a supermarket or whatever.

“Hello there, Mr. Malum. I’m Cyprus Papandrou,” she said.

Josiah, however, was too awed by Cyprus’s magnificent beauty to respond. He simply sat there staring, his mouth hanging open, his eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets.

But then Josiah’s inner evil began to work its magic, and he remembered the plan, remembered his mission: he pulled himself together. She was just another applicant, to be treated the same as any other.

“Welcome, Miss Papandrou. So, you wish to be Deputy Secretary of Evil. Do you have any past evil experience?” he asked.

“Oh yes,” replied Cyprus, “I used to slaughter puppies and eat their flesh. Oh, what am I saying, ‘used to’; I did it just this morning!”

“Wow! That’s really evil!” blurted out Josiah, again letting his obvious attraction get the best of him. “I mean…very impressive, Miss Papandrou; very impressive indeed. Well, you certainly appear qualified. I’ll get back to you.”

He nodded curtly, and Cyprus stood up, flashing Josiah a coy smile before exiting. He took out a cigarette and watched her intently as she left, accidentally lighting his finger.

“I think I’ve found myself a new assistant,” he said to himself. “Now I need to get back to my evil plotting. My hand hurts.”

Thus Josiah set to work on his plan, trying not to give in to his urge to call Cyprus. Before ten minutes had passed, however, Josiah realized the futility of his endeavor. He picked up the ancient Roman phone on his desk and dialed Cyprus’s number.

“You’ve got the job,” he said, not bothering to introduce himself.

“Yes, I already knew that,” she replied.

“How?” asked Josiah. “That’s impossible!”

“Not if you have psychic powers,” retorted Cyprus mysteriously. “Which I do, if you didn’t get that implication.”

“You can read minds?” asked Josiah, stunned.

“I certainly ca – oh…my…GOD!”

“…Sorry.”

CHAPTER THIRTY THREE

2008-01-11T12:53:00.000-08:00

XXXIII
John stood opposite Claudius in the largest room of the castle: the dining room. They hadn’t cleared the table after dinner yet, so everyone was expecting the fight to be pretty awkward.

The plan John and Jeannine had concocted the previous evening had gone off so far without a hitch, mostly because Claudius’s spy had been killed (Claudius, incidentally, only vaguely wondered why Bob had never delivered a report. See, there’s that hubris Jeannine was talking about!)

The men looked at each other with intense loathing. Claudius had only loathed John for about an hour, however. Earlier that day, John had decided to trick some traveling actors into putting on a play exposing Claudius’s evil deeds, which left Claudius without any doubt regarding what John knew.

Wasting no time, Jeannine had come to him immediately after the play, convincing him that open combat with his nephew would be the best course of action.

“Think about it logically, sir.”

“Do you have to call me ‘sir’? We’re married!” said Claudius.

“Yes, I do. But really, now that John knows you murdered his father, he can’t be allowed to live,
can he?”

“No, of course not!”

“And what better way to kill him than to do it yourself? It will certainly win you the adulation of your subjects.”

“I do enjoy adulation…”

“Then it’s final. You’ll accept John’s challenge for open combat,” said Jeannine.

“What challenge?”

“Oh, he’ll be challenging you to open combat soon. I mean, probably. It’s not like I know or anything; I’m just guessing,” said Jeannine quickly.

The next part of the plan was left to Bill, who was to make a diversion. He had something
spectacular in mind.

Just as John and Claudius were about to begin their fight, all of the castle’s lights went out, and Bill entered the room, a white sheet draped over his head.

“Boo! I’m John’s father’s ghost! Everyone, look at me! Woooooo!” wailed Bill, who had forgotten to make eye holes and consequently bumped into a wall every few seconds.

“Hey everybody, look over there! A diversion!” yelled a guard.

Everyone in the room turned his attention to Bill’s charade, and Mischa took the opportunity to sneak up behind Claudius and stab him in the back.

“Arrggh!” yelled the bleeding king as he fell writhing to the ground.

The guards all rushed over to the aid of their dying monarch, mistakenly assuming they’d be able to cure him and thus neglecting to call a doctor. Jeannine stared down at him, her face eloquent with satisfaction. So did John.

“Before you die, Uncle, are there any murders you’d like to confess to?” asked John bitterly.

“It wasn’t my fault!” pleaded Claudius. “I’m not the man responsible for your father’s death! It was…him.”

“Who? Whom are you talking about? My father’s ghost told me that you murdered him as he slept, you evil…man!” shouted John.

“Yes, that is true, but, it was not my idea…” insisted Claudius. “I was only…following orders. The man…responsible…is…Josiah…Mal…”

Claudius died, never getting a chance to pronounce the final syllable. John, Bill, Mischa, Jeannine and all the guards stood in stunned silence for a while.

“So!” announced Bill. “I guess now we have to go after Josiah Mal! But who is he? I’ve never even heard of him before. I hope he’s nice.”

“Bill, why don’t you go man some garbage?” suggested John.

“Man some gar…oh, I get it! Man garbage! Garbage man! That’s hilarious! You’re really funny, John. I don’t know why –”

“Shut up, you idiot,” interrupted John. “and follow me. We’re going to go after Josiah Malum. It’s back to Washington!”

“Wait!” said Jeannine. “You will find that Josiah Malum is no longer in America. Desperate to find a new assistant and continue his plan, he has decided to search abroad.”

“FIRED?!” yelled John, Bill and Mischa simultaneously.

“What? Where’d you get that from? That’s not what I said at all,” said Jeannine. “Anyway, Josiah is currently looking in Rome. If you wish to find him, that is where you must go.”

“Well, all right then,” said John. “We’ll go to Rome!”

“May I come as well?” asked Jeannine hopefully.

“Can you cook?” stipulated John.

“No, but I really, really hate that Bill guy. I don’t know how you put up with him, honestly.”

“Welcome aboard!”

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO

2008-01-09T10:45:00.000-08:00

XXXII
Bill, as per John’s orders, went to find Mischa and brought him immediately to John’s room, where John sat waiting for their arrival. They were going to plan tomorrow’s assassination. After Bill and Mischa entered the room, John walked over to the door and made sure it was locked before sitting down again.

“I’ve had about three minutes to think, and throughout the course of these three minutes, I came up with precisely three plans. My original plan was to challenge Claudius to a sword fight, but I shortly realized that I’ve never even looked at a sword before. My next was to kill Bill, but that wouldn’t kill Claudius, so we’ll keep that as a backup. My new plan is a clever spin-off of my first: to challenge Claudius to a duel but have one of you stab him in the back when he’s not looking. And by one of you, I mean Mischa,” explained John.

“I will do it, Comrade! You needn’t worry, because my specialty is back stabbing,” assured Mischa. “But how am I to get into position without anybody noticing?”

“That’s the beauty of the plan. We’ll need a diversion – and nobody’s better at creating diversions than Bill,” said John, to Bill’s delight.

“Really? You think so? Wow! Thanks John! That’s the first nice thing you’ve ever said about me!” piped the garbageman.

“And I’m willing to bet it’ll be the last,” muttered John. “The only problem is that I don’t know how to get Claudius to agree to such a battle. Any suggestions?”

“I have one, John,” said Jeannine, walking through the door and entering the room.

“You! How did you get through the door?” demanded John.

“Well, you locked the door, but you apparently forgot to close it,” she said. “Anyway, as I was saying, I have an idea. You are worried that Claudius won’t fight you, correct?”

“Right,” said John.

“You needn’t worry. I can make him fight you easily. All I have to do is convince him that killing you in public would be the perfect way to gain the respect of his subjects. He is a very proud man. If he has one tragic flaw, it’s hubris,” said Jeannine.

“Very well,” responded John, “it’s settled. You’ll convince Claudius to fight me, Bill will distract all of his guards, and Mischa will stab him in the back, thereby putting my father’s spirit to rest. Don’t drink that, Bill; it’s ear poison.”

“Oh, whoops,” said Bill, putting down the bottle.

They all retired to their separate rooms, preparing for the next day, completely unaware that Bob Clark was, in fact, listening to the entire conversation, hidden behind a refulgent yellow arras, just one of dozens located throughout the castle. Reluctant to spend money on surveillance equipment, Claudius had instead opted to have his men hide behind arrases and listen in on conversations.

“The woman is a traitor, is she not? Then she shall die, although she’s very hot,” said Bob to himself. “I must inform the monarch of their plan. If not, his reign will end as it began!”

John, however, heard every word, as Bob had neither kept his voice down nor checked to see whether John was asleep yet.

“What have we here?” he yelled loudly. “A spy!”

John sprang out of bed and, picking up a sword, thrust it into the arras, slaying Bob.

“Ow! Now I’m dying. Thanks a lot, asshole.”

“You’re welcome,” said John, sneering. “And tomorrow, your king shall meet the same fate!”

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

2008-01-07T09:31:00.000-08:00

XXXI
John, Bill and Mischa had all been taken to different rooms for the night. They thought this was merely a gesture of generosity, perhaps to compensate for none of their having had any cake; but in reality, Claudius was using the classic divide and conquer method. He figured that by dividing his adversaries, he’d be able to conquer them. Pretty self-explanatory.

Little did he know, however, that in the minute or so of having known him Jeannine had grown infatuated with John, and she now contrived to save him. And, vicariously, Bill and Mischa, I guess, since they’re his companions and all.

She came to John in the night, sneaking stealthily past the sleeping guard posted outside his door and waking John with a light whisper in his ear. It was very romantic.

“You must leave this place,” she said urgently. “My husband is planning to kill you! Tonight an assassin will enter this room and murder you with ear poison!”

“I already knew that,” said John irritably, rubbing his eyes. “I mean, the bottle’s right over there.”

He pointed languidly to his gilded nightstand, upon which rested a gilded bottle labeled “Ear Poison: For Use on John.” Rather stupid for Claudius to have left it there, really.

Jeannine was stunned.

“But if you knew of my husband’s intentions, why on earth would you stay?” she demanded, hoping his answer might have something to do with her.

“Isn’t it obvious? I plan to outwit him!” yelled John. “Let him try to murder me; he’ll fail. I came here to kill Claudius, Jeannine. I intend to get revenge for his usurpation of my father’s crown.”

“Then I will help you,” said Jeannine resolutely.

“You’d betray your husband?” asked John.

“Of course I would! I can’t stand him! I only married him because he threatened to burn down my parents’ village if I refused. It was the least romantic proposal ever.”

“Sounds about right. Okay then, I’ll let you help me. But for now, you’d better leave. I want that assassin to think I’m sleeping when he comes, and it’ll be hard to convince him if I’m talking to you” said John.

“Very well…” said Jeannine, hesitating.

She kissed John on the forehead before hurrying out of the room, again sneaking past the remarkably inattentive guard with minimal effort.

Now it was John’s turn to be shocked. He’d never really had time for romance, what with the demanding schedule resultant from being a postman…and his raging misogyny. That innocuous little kiss was actually the furthest he’d ever been with a woman. For the next hour, John lay in wait for his would-be assassin, continuously replaying the kiss in his head.

When the man finally did enter the room, John was surprised to find that he recognized him. He was even more surprised to find that it was

“BILL! What the hell are you doing in here?!” John demanded, both disconcerted and angry.

“King Claudius told me he’d give me a cookie if I put some of that poison in your ear!” Bill explained. “Oh, don’t worry though, I was gonna split it with you!”

John was disgusted. Not at Bill – he knew Bill was stupid and easily manipulated – but at Claudius. He really thought the king would’ve been able to find a more competent assassin. I mean, wow. Bill?

Nonetheless, Claudius’s failed attempt on John’s life was very encouraging, inasmuch as it, well, failed. John now had no doubts as to the likelihood of his successfully assassinating the king.

“I have a feeling I’ll be getting vengeance a bit more easily than I thought I would. Bill, go get Mischa,” he instructed. “We’re going to kill the king tomorrow!”

“How?” asked Bill.

“How else? A sword fight!”

Bill rushed out of the room in search of Mischa, and John stood up, determined. He was lost in thought for a moment. Then he sat back down.

“Crap! I don’t know how to sword fight! I really should've thought that through before saying it. Oh well.”

CHAPTER THIRTY

2008-01-05T20:05:00.000-08:00

XXX
“Enjoy your stay at Denmark’s finest inn; to take you on a tour I’ll soon begin. But first I must inform you of the rules: to disobey them is the sport of fools . I joyfully invite you, stay a while! But if you come with malice, or with guile, please rest assured that soon you’ll meet your ends – untimely death, which nothing ever mends!” said Bob.

“I see you’ve switched to iambic pentameter,” noted John. “But formalistic analysis aside, I really have to ask, what the hell are you doing here? Don’t you own a bar in America?”

“Indeed I do, but here I also work. I need more money, since I am a jerk,” said Bob.

“Your mastery of poetic form is admirable, Comrade!” lauded Mischa. “But we really just need to see King Claudius.”

“Oh, he’s down the hall, three doors to the left,” said Bob.

“You stopped using –”

“I know I did! It’s called free verse. Assholes.”

Shaking his head, John led Bill and Mischa through the next hallway. He counted three doors down and stopped when he reached the one leading into the room where, according to Bob, King Claudius was. They could hear Bob’s muttering all the while.

“Now there’s a good chance we’ll be walking into a trap when we enter that room. We haven’t exactly tried to keep our intentions secret. I’ll bet everyone in Denmark knows we’re here to kill the king by now! So whatever happens in there, remember: our only target is the king.

Everything and everyone else – Bill, pay attention! – is completely inconsequential,” instructed John. “No Bill, I will not define inconsequential for you. You’ll just have to use that dictionary I bought you. With your money. Okay, on three, I open the door.”

“I’ll count!” offered Bill. “I’m real good at it. Let’s see now, one…two…umm. Oh man, I always forget what comes next! Maybe it’s…no, that’s not it.”

But John and Mischa had already opened the door, charging into the room with reckless abandon. Sure enough, King Claudius was there, along with a few attendants and a beautiful woman. The moment was here.

Unfortunately though, neither John nor Mischa had had the foresight to bring a weapon, so they would have to deviate from the plan a little. Instead of deposing the monarch by force, they would now resort to trickery.

“Uh, hi, Uncle Claudius! It’s me, John!” said John, feigning politeness. “And this is my pet Russian, Mischa.”

“Hello, Comrade!” said Mischa. “Wait a minute, I’m not –”

“John! Back in Denmark? Didn’t you leave in a drunken rage that night, claiming you’d become a US postal worker?” asked Claudius.

“Yes, but I came back here to kill…some time,” said John, catching himself not a moment too soon.

“Well that’s wonderful! Have you met my disproportionately young wife, Jeannine?” asked Claudius. “I married her three hours ago. It’s a shame you missed the ceremony. There was cake.”

“Welcome back to Denmark, John,” said Jeannine, quite a bit more seductively than necessary.

“Pleased to meet you. Now if you’ll excuse me, Mischa and I – and Bill, he’s the one gnawing on your wall, don’t ask why – need to go somewhere to, uh, talk,” said John, hurrying out of the room.

“Well, all right. Just follow my secretary, Bob,” instructed Claudius as he watched the three leave.

Waiting until he could no longer hear his guests, Claudius took out his cell phone and quickly dialed a number.

“Mr. Malum, the rooster has perched,” he said.

“Excellent! So tomorrow you won’t need that wakeup call,” said Josiah.

“Indeed. Oh, and my nephew John is here. I believe you wanted him dead?” asked Claudius.

“Right, kill him,” instructed Josiah. “But I want Mischa…alive.”

Both Josiah and Claudius broke into choruses of maniacal laughter. The silence that followed was so awkward that they hung up immediately.

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

2008-01-03T18:02:00.000-08:00

XXIX
About a week later, Plank Walkin’ Pete spotted land from the crow’s nest (Magentabeard had decided to postpone his plank walking until the return journey).

“Hey guys! I think I found land!” he cried, nobody responding. “Why isn’t anybody listening to me? Oh..that's right. I suck.”

A few hours later, Magentabeard spotted the same land, berated Pete for having missed it and began making preparations to dock. John’s anxiety grew even greater: they were finally in Denmark.

Standing on the dock, the pirates bid adieu to their three captives, whom they now looked upon as companions instead, grateful for having had their company. The crew of The Pirate Ship, Ron informed John, was about to go on a plunder spree, thanks to Bjorn’s constantly insisting that they pillage a village (his Viking roots were hard to ignore).

“I’m sure we’ll be seein’ yer again, mateys!” called Magentabeard as the two groups went their separate ways.

Bill waved to the pirates, but John forced his hand down and pulled him along. Having been born and raised in Denmark, John knew precisely where the royal palace was; and thither he headed, not to be deterred by any amount of stupidity.

“We should be at the palace in a few hours,” John told Mischa. “I’d stop for lunch, but, you know.”

“Right you are, Comrade! We cannot allow ourselves to be distracted,” agreed Mischa. “In fact, I think we should go at a faster pace, to exact vengeance upon the usurper of your father’s throne even sooner!”

“I like they way you think, Mischa,” complimented John.

“Do you like the way I think?” asked Bill hopefully.

“Absolutely not,” John responded.

Not pausing to see how Bill would react, John pressed onward, intent on reaching the castle as quickly as possible. Despite this, he refused to call a cab or take a bus.

“Public transportation is for losers,” he maintained.

Nevertheless, before long, they arrived at the palace. It was a magnificent structure, larger even than the Blizzard’s inexplicable Antarctic ice palace. It was also made of stone, as opposed to ice, so it was considerably more durable. Many archers patrolled the walls with bows and arrows (guns just weren’t as cool), and two swordsmen guarded the door (they had guns).

“Greetings,” said John, waving to the guards, “my name is John Morgan, Prince of Denmark and US Postal Worker. I have come reclaim the throne that is rightfully mine by murdering the man who stole it!”

“Do you have an appointment?” asked the guard.

“Yes,” lied John, thinking quickly. “Yes I do.”

“Oh, well then come on in! Our tour guide will show you around,” said the guard, cheerfully standing aside and making enthusiastic gestures for the three to enter the palace.

They walked inside and through an elaborately ornate corridor. Fine pieces of art adorned the walls – though none could be identified – and the carpet upon which they were walking was absurdly plush. Crystal chandeliers were placed along the ceiling every few feet, casting dazzling light upon the three travelers.

At length they reached the end, and John pushed open a door to reveal a very large room containing hundreds of those crappy metal folding chairs. On the other side of the room, a man sat at an even shoddier desk, reading a newspaper. Walking past all the chairs, they approached him.

He looked up abruptly, revealing the countenance of a bespectacled, bitter old man. Bill and John got quite a shock: it was Bob Clark, owner of the Clark Bar!

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

2008-01-01T11:10:00.000-08:00

XXVIII
Life aboard the pirate ship The Pirate Ship was surprisingly pleasant for the three captives. Despite his outward appearance as a course, harsh scalawag, Magentabeard was one of the most gracious hosts imaginable. He had no qualms about catering to the every whim of his newfound slaves and, indeed, seemed eager to do so. He was also extremely accommodating to his usual crew, with the obvious exception of Plank Walkin’ Pete, whom he (and everyone else) hated virulently.

“PETE! I thought I told you to clean up this ship!” yelled Magentabeard one foggy morning at sea.

“But I’ve been cleaning,” argued Pete.

Magentabeard picked up a nearby bucket of tar and turned it upside down, letting the viscous substance spill out all over the floor.

“Then why be there tar all over the deck? Huh?!” demanded Magentabeard.

“Oh. I guess I missed it. Sorry,” said Pete.

John watched the scene with great interest, figuring that he could use some tips on how to deal with Bill, who since arriving on The Pirate Ship had, if anything, become even more annoying.

“Look at me John!” requested Bill. “I’m a pirate! Yarrgh! Hahaha, wasn’t that great? I’m so cool. Mom would be proud. She always used to say, ‘Bill! I’ll be proud of you if you become a mailman or a pirate, but nothing else.’ And now I’m a pirate! I failed the mailman test when I took it. Mom took away my X-Box.”

“That damn X-Box…” muttered John. “I really hope we get to Denmark soon. I can’t stand all this fresh air and water; it’s sickening. I feel nauseated.”

“I too am nauseous, Comrade!” concurred Mischa.

“That’s incorrect usage, Mischa,” corrected John. “Nauseous means inspiring nausea, whereas nauseated refers to the resulting nausea caused by something nauseous. Moron.”

As you may have noticed at the time but have probably forgotten by now, what with John’s pedantic grammatical lecture, it had transpired (quite luckily) that The Pirate Ship was also going to Denmark. Magentabeard refused to tell John why, but John didn’t especially care. He passed the time talking to Mischa and the non-Pete crew members, whom he found very tolerable.

“So you quit Rabbi school to become a pirate? Why?” asked John one day, enjoying a pleasant chat with Ron Goldstein.

“Eh,” shrugged Ron.

“Fascinating.”

Mischa was developing a rather close friendship with Bjorn. Since they were both foreigners and neither one fit into his respective group, they got along very well. Each also found the other’s accent hilarious.

“Ja ja, they be making fun of me all the time, ja?” said Bjorn. “I don’t know whether it’s my accent or the hat.”

“I understand you completely, Comrade. It is difficult not to fit in,” concurred Mischa. “Say, when we get to Denmark, would you like to come with us to assassinate the king and help my comrade John regain his rightful throne?”

“No no, I could not do it, Mr. Petrovitch,” said Bjorn. “My place is here, whether they make fun of me or not. Being a pirate’s a lot more fun than being just a simple Viking, ja?”

Bill didn’t really talk to anyone, instead opting to spend all his time practicing pirate phrases, all of which he butchered horribly, incurring the ire of Magentabeard on more than one occasion.

“Yarrrgh, if you don’t cut that out, you’ll be walkin’ the plank with Pete tomorrow!” cautioned Magentabeard.

“What?” asked Pete.

“Nothing! Get back to cleaning,” ordered Magentabeard.

“Oh, okay…sorry.”

“I’d get to walk the plank? Like a real pirate? Wow!” exclaimed Bill, running toward the very plank with which he’d just been threatened.

Magentabeard let out a sigh of defeat, and The Pirate Ship sailed onward.

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

2007-12-30T07:01:00.000-08:00

XXVII
The garbage ship departed. For almost a week it plowed slowly through the ocean, toward Denmark, its final (and only) destination. As the ship neared Denmark, John became so anxious that he had trouble containing it, just as the ship could barely contain the trash it carried. It was an interesting parallel.

“You know Bill, the other day I was thinking about my father. He was a good king,” recollected John one morning. “Nobody subjugated like he subjugated. Oh, you should’ve seen the way he used to subjugate; he was the finest subjugator in the land! He’s the one that inspired me to become a mailman.”

“Really?” asked Bill.

“No,” replied John. “No, I was lying. You’re not worth telling the truth to. Hey Mischa! Get over here; we need to discuss strategy for when we arrive in Denmark. I have a feeling it might be rather difficult to assassinate the king, what with laws and security and all.”

“Good thinking, Comrade! I was just drawing up a battle plan,” said Mischa, holding up a piece of paper.

On it were scribbled a bunch of complicated diagrams that nobody could possibly understand. In crayon.

“I don’t know what these are supposed to be. They’re crap!” criticized John. “Besides, this mission will require far more than mere diagrams.”

As Mischa pondered what John had said thoughtfully, a siren suddenly began to wail. An announcement came over the ship’s intercom system, which was noteworthy, since the ship didn’t have an intercom system.

“Attention all passengers, we have just spotted a pirate ship. An update: it has apparently already begun to board us. You know, in retrospect, we probably should’ve posted a lookout or something, someone who could notify us about these things before it’s too late. Well, you know what they say: hindsight’s 20/20. Now we know better; this is a valuable lesson for all of us. That is all.”

“Crap! Pirates!” exclaimed John. “I had a feeling this would happen. All right guys, when I was in postman school, they taught us how to deal with pirates. Unfortunately, I cut class that day, because I doubted I’d ever need to deal with pirates. I guess we’re stuck.”

Mischa looked scared, but Bill, far from being frightened, was positively elated. Ever since the age of four, he’d wished daily that he were a pirate.

“Oh boy! I can’t believe I’m really gonna meet some –”

“Aarrrggg, matey!” came the gruff, guttural grunt of an unmistakable pirate. “We be in control of this vessel now! My name be Magentabeard, and I be the captain of The Pirate Ship, my pirate ship.”

“Your ship is called The Pirate Ship? That’s a little unimaginative, don’t you think?” asked John.

“I’ll be askin’ the questions here, matey!” rebuked Magentabeard. “Now, we have no use for a garbage ship, but we could sure as treasure use the three of you for slave labor! Come with me!”

John, Bill and Mischa followed Magentabeard off of the garbage ship and onto The Pirate Ship. John was a bit peeved, as he thought this would interfere with his journey to Denmark; Mischa was terrified, the pirates reminding him of Josiah; and Bill was, as I said before, very happy.

The ship was massive, far larger than the garbage vessel. It also seemed to be about three hundred years old. It was the perfect stereotype of a pirate ship: crow’s nest, pirate flag, the works. Bill nearly fainted with joy.

“Here’s the rest of me crew,” said the pirate. “That be Ron Goldstein, me first mate.”

“Hello everyone, it’s wonderful to meet you.”

“There’s Bjorn. We picked him up in Sweden,” continued Magentabeard.

“I’m a Viking!”

“Bjorn isn’t fitting in too well. And that guy over there be Plank Walkin’ Pete! Say hello to the men, Pete,” ordered Magentabeard.

“Uh, hi. I’m Pete,” said Pete.

“How’d you get the name Plank Walkin’ Pete?” asked John. “Do you walk planks often?”

“Oh no, I haven’t walked one yet. That’s just a joke between me and the guys. I’m sure I’ll never really have to walk one,” answered Pete.

“We’re makin’ him walk at noon. We’re havin’ pizza! So, now that ye know the crew, it’s time to get down to your slavery! Swab the decks!” commanded Magentabeard.

“No thanks, we’d rather eat,” said John, turning around and walking hungrily toward the galley.

“Okay, well, suit yourselves!”

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

2007-12-28T13:21:00.000-08:00

XXVI
John, Bill, and Mischa were at the docks, trying to find a ship that was going to Denmark. They didn’t expect their hunt to last long, as there were only two ships there. Both, incidentally, were going to Denmark.

Their logic for traveling by sea as opposed to flying, which was much quicker, was that Josiah probably had bribed and coerced most airlines into obeying his orders, and they didn’t want to deal with another Captain Arousing. So it's not a plot hole.

“Well, this free luxury cruise ship leaves in an hour, but I don’t feel like waiting that long. Let’s hitch a ride aboard that garbage vessel,” said John, as Bill and Mischa nodded.

The three gathered up their possessions (nobody had brought anything, so this didn’t take very long) and set off for the garbage ship, a good thirty second walk away. Twenty minutes later, they arrived.

Walking up the boarding ramp confidently, they attempted to gain entry into the ship but were stopped by a burly security guard, who told them that nobody but trained garbage men were permitted to enter.

“I’m a garbage man!” said Bill. “I’m Bill Williams.”

The security guard did a double take, spitting out his water in surprise which, in turn, greatly surprised John and Mischa, as he hadn’t been drinking any water.

“The Bill Williams? The famous Bill Williams? The Bill Williams who once crashed a garbage truck into the White House because he thought it was a giant ice cream truck for some reason? WOW! I never thought I’d meet you. This – this is the greatest thrill of my life! Welcome aboard!” he gushed, standing aside so Bill could walk in.

John and Mischa attempted to follow, but the guard moved back into position, blocking them.

“Sorry boys, Bill’s a garbage man – hell, he’s the garbage man! – but you gentlemen have to go back,” he ordered. “There are things on this ship you wouldn’t be able to handle. Mostly garbage.”

“I’ll have you know that I am a US postal worker!” argued John. “I’m more than qualified to board this vessel. If you let that idiot through, I demand you allow me to pass.”

“Yes, and I am a Russian immigrant, with low self-esteem!” added Mischa. “So…let me pass too!”

“No and no. I hate the postal service and I have an unnatural fear of Russians. Leave before I beat you,” commanded the guard, pushing John and Mischa back.

He let go of them when they were back on the dock. Then, turning around, he walked up the ramp, boarded the ship and sealed the entrance shut, welding it with his heat vision. John and Mischa were stuck.

“What do we do now, Comrade?” asked Mischa dejectedly.

“We’ll have to sneak in somehow,” said John. “But I don’t see how we…ah ha! I have an idea. Just follow my lead, Mischa.”

One minute later, John (dressed to perfection in his mailman uniform) and Mischa (who hadn’t changed anything) marched up the solid oak ramp and knocked on the door, which the same burly security guard answered.

“Yes?” he asked.

“I need to deliver a package,” said John. “And, uh, so does my assistant.”

“All right then, come on through,” said the guard, moving aside for them to pass.

“That was easy,” remarked John as he took off his hat and set it down on a nearby table. “Now we need to find Bill and prepare for what lies ahead.”

“And what would that be, Comrade?”

“Danger.”

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

2007-12-26T07:09:00.000-08:00

XXV
But Josiah Malum cared about John – very much so. And not in a good way either. No, he cared about John in a very bad way. Josiah wanted him dead, and he would stop at nothing to see that it happened.

The betrayal of Mischa was viewed by Josiah as merely another inconvenience. As little as Josiah liked Mischa, he trusted him even less; he’d secretly planted a microphone on him months ago to ensure that he was informed of everything that went on around his assistant.

When he found out about Mischa’s going apostate, Josiah was at first angry (“Nobody betrays Josiah Malum!”), then relieved (“I did hate him though”). After all, with Mischa gone, he could hold auditions for a new Deputy Secretary of Evil, a prospect which greatly excited him.

Unfortunately, they didn’t go quite as well as he’d planned. Even after Josiah put up flyers all over Washington, nobody showed up, leaving him cruelly and irrevocably alone, sitting in his cavernous Pentagon office sipping brandy.

“Josiah!” he yelled to himself, no one else being available, “you need to stop that mailman! And punish Mischa for betraying you! And finish off the NBA! And carry out the rest of your evil plan!”

“Don’t you tell me what to do, you rentsy little –”

“How dare you call me rentsy? I’m not rentsy; you’re rentsy!”

“You’re calling me rentsy, you rentsy piece of –”

“You don’t even know the definition of the word rentsy!”

After taking a break to look up the word rentsy (of, related to, or exhibiting flamboyant eccentricity), Josiah tried to resume his shouting match with himself. But realizing how pointlessly futile it was, he sighed in defeat, pouring himself another glass and lighting up a cigarette.

“It’s just not the same without Mischa,” he lamented. “Oh well, I’ll just have to do now what I did before: kidnap someone and force him to be my assistant.”

Marching happily into the streets of Washington, taser in hand, Josiah started looking for potential victims. Humming to himself, he savagely electrocuted the first man that crossed his path, who just so happened to be Sanchez.

“Only Josiah Malum’s taser has such a high voltage,” thought Sanchez as he hit the ground, then turned around to find Josiah standing above him triumphantly.

“You!” yelled Josiah, recognizing his foe and preparing to zap Sanchez again.

“Yes. Me,” said Sanchez as he picked himself up, shrugging off the next jolt as it if were nothing.

Astonished, Josiah dropped the taser, which Sanchez, moving forward threateningly, crushed beneath his foot. It was very intimidating.

“Josiah Malum, you have just witnessed my secret power: after I am electrocuted by a taser during the second week of March on a leap year, I cannot be harmed by any subsequent shocks,” he explained. “I do not know why. But now, I am afraid I must kill you.”

Josiah calmly reached into his pocket and withdrew a fresh pack of cigarettes. He showed no fear, despite the situation, slowly taking a cigarette out and lighting it.

“Not today, Mr. – whatever your last name is. Not today,” he said.

Josiah leapt into the air, right into a waiting helicopter that Sanchez had somehow failed to notice. Laughing maniacally and throwing his cigarette out the window, he flew away, beyond the reach of anyone confined to the ground.

But Sanchez was not confined to the ground. Switching on his jetpack, Sanchez rocketed into the air, flying speedily after Josiah’s helicopter.

“I will pursue this helicopter to the ends of the earth. Or until I run out of fuel. Hmm…the latter seems far more likely to happen, now that I think about it. I knew I should have put more than a dollar’s worth of gas in here,” said Sanchez as his jetpack gave a feeble sputter and died.

Seconds later, Sanchez met the same fate. Well, he didn’t really sputter...but he did die.

The NBA was now down to one.

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

2007-12-24T12:01:00.000-08:00

XXIV
Two weeks later, John, Bill and Mischa arrived back in the United States. Having swum from Antarctica, they were very tired and had all contracted rather nasty cases of hypothermia, so they were understandably looking forward to warm, comfy beds.

The first thing they did upon their arrival was to seek out a hotel. They found one relatively quickly in a nice little hamlet they spotted, though Bill did hold them up a bit, what with his insistence on talking to and singing for everyone they passed.

When they arrived at the hotel, they found that, tragically, they only had enough money to buy one room; and this one room had only two beds. You do the math. It’s pretty simple math. I mean, I could do it, if I wanted to. But I don’t.

“No, no, NO! There is absolutely no way I’m going to sleep in the same bed as Bill. I’d rather die,” protested John, not exaggerating at all.

“But Comrade, I must have a bed to myself! It is my tradition,” argued Mischa.

“Tradition? That’s the worst, most poorly thought out lie I’ve ever heard! Oh, fine, just forget it; I’ll sleep on the floor,” said John.

Bill, now jumping vigorously on the bed, said, “Are you sure John? It’s really big!”

“So is my brain, but you don’t see me sleeping in that with you,” retorted John. “Let’s just get through this night so we can fly back home tomorrow.”

“But we don’t have wings!” argued Bill.

“You’re an idiot.”

“Goodnight, Comrades!”

“Oh, shut up.”

Bill and Mischa woke up the following morning at 8:00 - but John was already up, because a strange, oddly familiar dream had kept him lying awake all night.

Against his best judgment, he decided that he would tell somebody at breakfast. Eating his bowl of gruel (this was a cheap hotel), John turned to Mischa.

“I had an interesting dream last night,” he said.

“Really? What happened?” asked Bill, to whom John clearly wasn’t talking.

Turning to Bill irritably, John said, “I was visited by a ghost.”

“Was it Flapjack?” asked Bill. “He comes to me all the time! Just yesterday he told me to –”

“No, Bill, not Flapjack! Flapjack isn’t real. There’s no such thing as ghosts. But yeah, this ghost I dreamt about? I think it was the real thing,” replied John. “Remember how I told you my father was the King of Denmark, but then he died mysteriously and my Uncle Claudius took over?”

“No,” said Bill.

“Yeah, well, he did. Anyway, the ghost that visited me last night was my father. He told me that Uncle Claudius is the one that killed him, and that I have to get revenge,” said John.

“Comrade, do you really think the ghost of your father actually came to you?” questioned Mischa. “I mean, you said yourself that it was a dream.”

“Indeed I did, Mischa, but if I know one thing (and I’m pretty sure I do), it’s that my dreams are always accurate. Well, there’s no evidence to support that, actually, but I’m sure it's true. Regardless, I think I should go to Denmark anyway just to check this situation out,” answered John. "If nothing else, it'll move the plot forward. You're welcome to come with me, Mischa.”

“What about me, John? Bill?”

“Is your name Mischa?”

“No, I’m Bill. Bill Williams! I’m a garbage –”

“I KNOW WHO YOU ARE! I was just feigning sardonic ignorance to emphasize the fact that you aren’t welcome to come with me,” yelled John.

“ –man,” finished Bill.

“Oh, fine, you can come too,” said John five minutes later, nobody having done or said anything since.

He stood up, dropping his spoon into the now empty gruel bowl. Mischa and Bill followed suit, both seemingly ready to follow John wherever he might go. Suddenly, Mischa had an epiphany.

“Wait, what about Josiah Malum?” he asked.

“Who?” asked John.

“Josiah Malum! Secretary of Evil! You know, the man whose plans we were trying to thwart?”

“Oh, I don’t care about him anymore. To Denmark!”

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

2007-12-22T09:00:00.000-08:00

XXIII
They left the Blizzard’s compound (which, because of its owners death, had begun to melt for no good structural reason) and continued their search for the Red Herring. After having looked for so long, however, all three were prepared to acquiesce to the fact that they would probably never –

“Oh look, there it is,” said John, pointing to the Red Herring.

Yes, he had found the Red Herring. It was sitting atop a pile of snow, its deep crimson scales standing out sharply against the white homogeneity of the Antarctic. Indeed, it was a magnificent fish, at least twice as magnificent as the next most magnificent fish. The three were thrilled.

“Comrade! We have found it!” said Mischa, excitedly hurrying forward.

“Don’t touch it, Mischa. It might be dangerous,” cautioned John wisely, holding out his arm. “Bill, go grab it.”

“Okay!” said Bill, rushing forward, picking up the fish and holding it above his head victoriously.

“Well! It seems that we’ve finally found the Red Herring. I guess now the only question is, what do we do with it?” asked John.

“Do you think that it has special powers or something?” asked Mischa, looking skeptically at the now limp fish in Bill’s hand. “Because if it has special powers, that would be good.”

“Maybe…” said John. “I mean, no one really told us anything about it. I think I’m supposed to bring it to Sanchez or Shamus, but now that I think about it, how the hell am I supposed to do that? We’re stranded here, lost, without any way to get out!”

“Calm down, Comrade!” said Mischa. “I am sure that we will think of something. For now, we should get some rest; after all, no man can tell what tomorrow might bring.”

Nodding, John sat down in the snow, stretching his legs out and sighing. He looked around and let out a deep breath, unsure of the future but glad to have found the Red Herring.

“You’re right, Mischa. We’ll spend the night out here and try to figure out the mystery of this Red Herring tomorrow. Bill, put it down. BILL!”

John had noticed just a minute too late that Bill was eating the Red Herring. Neither John nor Mischa could move or speak; they were paralyzed with awe at Bill’s ineffable idiocy.

Bill, however, was very cheerful, finally having eaten a decent meal. The herring, as it turns out, was quite delicious, despite being raw and full of bones.

“Oh, sorry guys!” said Bill. “I should’ve shared. Mom says I should always share. She’s gonna be mad at me now. I should call her.”

Bill took out his cell phone and tried to call his mother, but the phone had been frozen for weeks and he obviously couldn’t get through. That didn’t deter him though; he just kept at it, giving John and Mischa time to talk.

“He ate it. HE ATE IT!” yelled a furious John, gripping Mischa’s shoulder roughly. “I knew it was a mistake to be nice to him! I knew it was a mistake to bring him here! I knew it was a mistake not to kill and eat him when we had the chance!”

“Take it easy, Comrade. He may have eaten the Red Herring, but at least that means Josiah will never get it,” said Mischa.

“You do have a point,” conceded John. “We may not have it, but neither does the enemy. I guess that means this Red Herring adventure has led to a zero sum situation; absolutely nothing of significance happened, and the whole thing was just an unnecessary digression from other, more crucial events, almost as if it were only a diversion, meant to throw us off the path.”

“Exactly!” exclaimed Mischa. “Now, Comrades, let us all get some sleep. Tomorrow we will try to figure out a way to get out of here.”

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

2007-12-20T08:57:00.000-08:00

XXII
“Oh wait, did I say herring?! I meant pasta!” said the Blizzard, much to the dismay of all present.

John, extremely dejected, replied, “Well, thanks for the offer, Mr. Blizzard, but – ”

“The Blizzard!” corrected their host. “My name is The Blizzard, not Mr. Blizzard! My father was Mr. Blizzard! He was a great man! I am simply The Blizzard!”

“Yes, well, we’re going to have to decline, the Blizzard. Pasta’s not exactly at the top of our to-do list right now,” said John.

“It’s on top of mine!” contested Bill, holding up a to-do list which, sure enough, had pasta written right on top of it.

“Since when have you had a to-do list?” demanded John. “Moreover, since when have you known how to write?”

“I don’t know how to write,” said Bill.

“Then where did you get that list?” asked John, frustrated.

“What list?”

“I have had enough of you, Comrade!” said Mischa suddenly, taking out his trusty pistol and aiming it at Bill’s head. “I took a lot of abuse under Josiah – a LOT – but none of that can compare to the agony I have been forced to endure since meeting you. Prepare to die, you annoying, garbage-toting…man!”

“Hold on a minute, Mischa!” commanded John. “I hate Bill as much as you do, and normally I’d be first in line to kill him; but I owe Bill my life somehow, so I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you not to shoot him. As for you, Bill, one more word, gesture, or inexplicable phenomenon out of you and I’m taking away your crayons.”

Mischa reluctantly put his gun away, and Bill, stifling tears, was now completely silent.

“Oh, come on! You have to stay for dinner!” insisted the Blizzard, pretending not to have heard the last exchange. “My ice butler was up all night yesterday cooking penne pasta for everybody!”

“First of all, how could he have been cooking for us last night if we didn’t arrive until today? And second of all, never mind that, I don’t even care, we’re leaving,” said John.

The Blizzard, however, was not one to give up so easily, and he continued to persist. The two companions capable of deductive reasoning simply attributed his insistence to loneliness, because after all, how many visitors could he possibly have?

But unbeknownst to them, the Blizzard was actually a secret agent working for Josiah Malum (there were a lot of those, apparently). What he’d said about his ice butler was true – he had been up all night cooking pasta. What he had failed to mention, however, was that it was poison penne pasta - with pesto and parmesan - an alliterative dish of death!

“Well if you won’t stay for dinner, at least have a slice of cake!” bargained the Blizzard, who was making use of his doctorate in psychology and hoped to pressure them into acquiescing with reciprocal concessions.

“Chocolate cake?” asked Mischa.

“I’m allergic to chocolate! In fact, I’m so allergic that the very word causes me to keel over dead!” said the Blizzard.

And that was the end of him.

“Oh dear, it’s going to take me quite a while to clean up this mess!” said the ice butler, ice broom and ice dustbin in hand.

“I guess the Blizzard was really more of a LIZARD!” said Bill.

“That didn’t make any sense at all,” spat John.

“Or maybe it made too much,” countered Bill.

“Bill...you’re the worst person ever.”

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

2007-12-18T08:15:00.000-08:00

XXI
Once they got used to the Blizzard’s curious habit of yelling absolutely everything, John, Bill and Mischa realized that he was actually quite a friendly host. Life in his palace offered them welcome respite from the life-threatening conditions of Antarctica.

After John agreed to reimburse him for the damaged floor (and offered – though was never asked – to murder Bill for additional compensation), the Blizzard and his ice butler took them on a tour of the palace. It took much longer than it should have, as Bill continuously made a point of yelling out in surprise that every room they entered was made of ice.

“This one’s the kitchen! My ice butler does all the cooking here!” said the Blizzard, leading them through the house.

“Indeed I do, sir,” replied the butler.

“Oh my God! This entire room is made of ice!” shouted Bill.

“Bill, if you do that one more time, I’m going to –”

“And here’s the bathroom, where I take my nightly ice bath! It’s cold, like my heart – because I’m THE BLIZZARD!” he declared proudly.

“I’m Bill! And oh my God! This entire room is made of ice!” shouted Bill.

As they walked, John and Mischa discussed their situation behind the Blizzard’s back, not wanting him to hear. They couldn’t quite decide what to make of him: on the one hand, he didn’t seem evil or malicious; but on the other, he was very loud and sort of obnoxious. They concluded that they might as well just see how things played out.

At last, after more walking than could possibly have been necessary, they came to the final room: the Ice Room.

“I don’t see what’s so special about it,” noted John, staring around at the now familiar walls of ice enveloping them. “I mean, every room’s an ice room, isn’t it?”

“Yes! But this one’s slightly icier!” replied the Blizzard.

“Ah, yes, of course, now I see. Very nice,” added John.

“Yes, it is truly a magnificent room,” concurred Mischa. “It reminds me of the ice palace I used to live in, when I was just a lad! Except I did not live in an ice palace when I was a lad.”

“You’re funny, Mischa. And wow! This entire room is made of ice!” noted Bill. “That’s unbelievable!”

The Blizzard sat down on a chair of ice, and his ice butler stood beside him motionless, waiting for orders. John, Bill and Mischa just stood there awkwardly, glancing around at each other and waiting for the Blizzard to speak. Finally, he did.

“So that’s the tour!” he shouted. “Any questions?!”

“I have one,” said John. “How and why did you build this ice castle in the middle of Antarctica? It’s nice and all, but it seems a bit pointless.”

“Very true!” answered the Blizzard. “Well, it’s a long story! It all began about three years ago, when I came to Antarctica looking for an ice butler, for reasons I’m reluctant to reveal! When I found one, he built me this palace! Hmm…I guess it really isn’t that long!”

Bill took out a yo-yo and started playing with it. John shook his head. Bill looked sad and put the yo-yo away. Then he took it out again. Mischa checked his watch.

“We should probably go…” began John, remembering their quest and realizing that the ice palace was more or less a huge waste of time.

“But aren’t you going to stay for dinner?!” demanded the Blizzard.

“Why, what are we having?” asked Mischa.

“Herring! Red Herring!”

CHAPTER TWENTY

2007-12-16T11:03:00.000-08:00

XX
Bill, John and Mischa trudged through bone-chilling frost and biting winds. A week had passed since they’d joined forces, and they were no closer to finding the Red Herring than they’d been at the beginning. They’d also run out of food, which was really inconvenient.

“I’m beginning to think this whole Red Herring business was just a big, misleading clue,” said John bitterly.

“You can’t really mean that, Comrade!” scolded Mischa. “I am certain that we will find it. And then we will be able to thwart Josiah.”

Bill, much to the delight of his companions, hadn’t said anything for a few days, having foolishly licked an icicle and gotten his tongue stuck. He had no regrets.

They walked on, teetering right on the line separating optimism from pessimism, unable to decide which philosophy to adopt so choosing to adopt neither. Occasionally they found a stray penguin or two, but aside from that, they were having absolutely no luck with their quest. At length, Bill said (or at least tried to say – his tongue was still stuck) that he couldn’t go on, and he sat down on a patch of frigid snow. The wind howled around him.

Mischa would have been quite happy to leave him there, but John did owe the man his life, so grabbing Bill by the icicle still caught on his tongue, he started pulling the garbage man behind him. It slowed him down considerably – quite a feat, as they were already moving incredibly slowly.

After another hour or so, they stumbled across a sight that they could hardly believe: a castle made entirely of ice. Running toward it for some reason, they let out cries of joy at finally seeing something to break the harsh monotony of the Antarctic.

The tallest tower of the carved castle was at least a hundred feet above the ground. Magnificent ice sculptures surrounded the structure, each one carved with astounding detail but none of which resembled anything familiar. The castle brilliantly reflected the few rays of sunlight that had managed to penetrate the clouds, giving off the impression that it was made of diamonds, or tinfoil.

John, taking a deep breath and grinning, rang the doorbell (which was made of ice, like the rest of the castle, and was thus very hard to locate), and they waited. About a minute later, the door (also made of ice) opened to reveal what was unmistakably a butler. Made of ice.

“Good day, sirs,” he began, speaking with a remarkably poor British accent, “how may I be of service to you?”

“We’re very tired, very hungry, very sexy wanderers who just happened to come across this castle. We’d greatly appreciate it if you let us inside to talk to your – er – boss,” replied John as politely as he was able. “If you have one. I mean, I suppose you might be the boss, right? I have no way of knowing. Except my intuition. Which is always right. So never mind what I just said.”

“Very well,” said the butler, “follow me.”

They followed him into the ice castle, up an icy flight of stairs and through an icy archway which led into a room of ice. Sitting at an ice desk was a man draped in a flowing silver robe, almost like ice (but it wasn’t).

“Greetings!” he yelled about ten times as loudly as he needed to. “Welcome to my castle! I am THE BLIZZARD!”

No one said anything for a while. I mean, there’s really no good way to respond to that, is there?

No. There isn’t.

“Hi?” tried John.

“Hello!”

The silence was finally broken when Bill tripped and fell, shattering the fragile floor and falling back down to the first level.

“You’re going to have to pay for that!” said the Blizzard, taking out his wallet.

John sighed.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

2007-12-14T08:04:00.000-08:00

XIX
Shamus Flanagan sat in the back room of Shamus Flanagan’s Mexican Munchies. It was dimly lit and only furnished with two wooden chairs. Shamus was in one of them, his head buried in his hands. He hadn’t spoken for a while, but he finally glanced up at the man in the other chair.

Across from him sat Sanchez, who had flown in from Mexico the previous morning on a private jet – property of the National Brotherhood of Altruism. Sanchez’s usually stoic face was now eloquent with worry, as Josiah Malum’s latest move had delivered a devastating blow to the NBA.

“This is perhaps the most devastating blow we’ve suffered all week,” said Sanchez glumly. “And we have suffered many devastating blows this week. Four, I believe.”

“Aye, ‘tis something I wouldn’t fancy repeating, that’s for sure,” replied Shamus, nodding.

“How can we recover?” asked Sanchez, only half expecting Shamus to be able to answer. “Can we recover?”

“’Twill be mighty difficult, make no mistake,” said Shamus. “Executin’ every member of the organization except the two of us certainly makes our jobs a mite harder. But I’m not too worried.”

“Why is that?” questioned Sanchez, curious.

“Why’s that? Don’t tell me you’ve already forgotten, Sanchez! Why, we have John! If he can’t find the Red Herring, nobody can,” explained Shamus.

“And Bill,” added Sanchez.

“Who?” asked Shamus.

“Bill. You know, that dumb guy who’s always with John?”

“Oh, right, him. Well he’s a mighty big idiot, but I’m sure John has his reasons for bringin’ him along. It’s all in his hands now, laddie. The only thing we can do is wait,” said Shamus.

The two sat there wordless for a while, contemplating whatever it was that the leaders of the NBA liked to contemplate.

“Want to catch a movie or something?”

“Sure, okay.”

The men left the restaurant, slightly more cheerful; but little did they know, that they were being watched. By ninjas.

Josiah Malum received a call from their leader, informing him that Sanchez and Shamus had left the building together. He gave the order for his assassins to move into the now vacant restaurant, and move in they did.

Three figures dressed all in black entered stealthily (although no stealth was required), each of them carrying a powerful bomb. Although one would have been more than sufficient to demolish the building, Josiah had both a thing for explosions and more government funding than he knew what to do with…so, three there were!

They placed the bombs at various strategic points, ensuring that the next man to enter the restaurant would trigger them the moment he stepped inside. Their task accomplished, the ninjas left, satisfied, already making plans for dinner.

“Oh crap, I forgot my wallet,” one said, opening the door.

The explosion could be heard miles away. It was seen from outer space. The building was completely obliterated, along with all three of the would-be assailants.

Josiah Malum, watching from a nearby (but not too nearby) helicopter, briefly wondered why all of his subordinates were so comically inept before he gave the pilot orders to fly away.

Lighting a cigarette, Josiah sighed, “Well, at least I have Mischa in Antarctica. He’s screwed me over so many times before that he’s bound to come through! Then, with the Red Herring in my possession and that infernal mailman out of the way, my evil plan will be able to move forward.”

Slightly more cheerful, he lit another cigarette, inhaling the taste of sweet, sweet victory.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

2007-12-12T19:58:00.000-08:00

XVIII
John and Bill had now been wandering around aimlessly for three days, and they were very lost. With each passing hour, they grew steadily more doubtful that they’d ever find the Red Herring. The fact that Captain Arousing was quite obviously following them – he didn’t seem to realize that merely ducking down wouldn’t hide him – only added to their problems.

“I’m hungry!” whined Bill, who in actuality wasn’t hungry at all but felt as though he should say something to break the awkward silence John insisted upon maintaining in order to avoid subjecting himself to the inane chatter of the garbage man.

“We just ate in that McDonalds over there!” said John, who figured Bill was gullible enough to believe him. “You ordered enough food for five people, and now I’m broke. Stop complaining.”

“But I’m hungry!” repeated Bill.

“Okay, fine. We’ll eat Captain Arousing,” conceded John.

They turned around to find a very shocked Captain Arousing quickly ducking down.

“Where’d he go?” asked Bill.

Too annoyed to respond, John just continued walking. Bill followed, forgetting all about his hunger when they saw a plane fly overhead, the first sign of non-Captain Arousing human contact they’d seen since arriving.

“I’ve never seen a plane fly this low before; I think it’s about to land!” said John, running over to where he thought the plane would touch down.

Unfortunately, his guess was a little too accurate, and the plane very nearly decapitated him as it descended. It was tremendous, far larger than any plane John had ever seen before; it seemed capable of carrying a small army. The plane also bore no insignia, which John took as another bad omen.

“Get ready, Bill. We don’t know who’s in there – it may be an enemy,” cautioned John.

It began to slow down, John’s tension increasing with each second; but when it stopped, only one man exited: Mischa Petrovitch. The plane took off again immediately, leaving the now-unemployed Deputy Secretary of Evil stranded in the frozen wasteland.

He saw John and Bill and instantly took out a pistol, which he clumsily dropped, then picked up, then dropped again, finally remembering his decision to betray Josiah.

Jogging over to the two, he raised his hand in a sign of greeting and smiled weakly. John, by nature a distrustful cynic; and Bill, conditioned always to do whatever John did, were quite suspicious, but they figured they’d let the man have his say.

“Greetings, comrades! I was sent here by Josiah Malum, but I am going to betray him, so let us find the Red Herring together!” he said.

“How do we know we can trust you?” asked John. “After all, the last time we met, you tried to shoot us. I don’t forget things like that easily.”

“No, that is actually incorrect. The last time we met was for but a brief instant, at the airport. The time where I shot at you was actually two meetings ago,” corrected Mischa.

“I think you’re missing the point,” said John.

“You must forgive me. I have the unfortunate habit of taking everything literally. For example, when you said that I was missing the point, for a moment I thought you meant that I had failed to notice your pointing at something. See?”

“This conversation is going nowhere. I’ll just come out and say it: I’m reluctant to take you at your word, but I’m willing to give you a chance. If you’re going to travel with us, you need to prove that you’re really trustworthy. Kill Captain Arousing!” demanded John. “Then we’ll know whose side you’re really on.”

“Having never met him before and therefore having absolutely no emotional attachment to him, I fail to see how that will prove anything. But okay!” said Mischa, picking up his pistol and shooting Captain Arousing in the face.

The good captain fell to the ground dead, and that was more than enough to satisfy John; so he, Bill and Mischa set off together, in search of the Red Herring. And some food.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

2007-12-10T13:44:00.000-08:00

XVII
Josiah Malum sat at his desk in his Pentagon office, speaking through his private phone line to Captain Arousing, with whom he’d been in frequent contact. Calls from Washington to Antarctica were very expensive, however, so Josiah had decided to deduct the price of long distance from Mischa’s salary. In addition to saving him money, this made him feel much better about himself.

Mischa, ever the loyal lackey, was in the room with Josiah, nervously awaiting his next orders as he stood over his boss’s shoulder with an ashtray.

“John Morgan and that idiot garbage man are there with you? They’re looking for the Red Herring too? Well you’d better find it before they do, Arousing! You’ve made too many errors already. Like what? Are you joking? Oh, you are? Well, good. Carry on then.”

Josiah hung up the phone and turned to Mischa, now smoking two cigarettes at once. Since Bill and John’s escape, he’d been in a very bad mood, so he had compensated by doubling both his tobacco intake and the frequency of his Mischa beatings.

“Mischa!” said Josiah suddenly, “I’ve decided on your next assignment. You’re going to go to Antarctica and help Captain Arousing find the Red Herring before those other fools do.”

“B-but I don’t tolerate the c-cold well, sir,” protested Mischa. “I have a v-very weak c-constitution!”

“And I don’t tolerate insubordination well, Mischa!” argued Josiah. “But look whom I put up with. No, there’s nobody else here; I’m talking about you. I have to put up with you. If you want to keep your job, you’ll go to Antarctica, and that’s final!”

A figurative light bulb suddenly went off in Mischa’s head. For the first time since becoming Josiah’s assistant, he finally saw a way out.

“Maybe I don’t want to keep my job!” he exclaimed. “Since the day you kidnapped me and brought me here, it’s been nothing but ‘Mischa, do this!’ and ‘Mischa, do that!’ and ‘Mischa, you’ve been playing long enough, it’s my turn!’ even when I’ve only been playing for like a minute, and you’d had it for hours before that! Well I’m sick of it! I quit!”

“You can’t quit! You’re fired!” said Josiah.

“R-really? I can leave?” asked Mischa, hardly daring to believe his change in fortune.

“Absolutely not. No, I’m just not going to pay you anymore. You still have to do everything I say,” answered Josiah.

“Is that l-legal?” asked Mischa.

“No! And I don’t care; for I am Josiah Malum, Secretary of Evil!” declared Josiah. “Now, off to Antarctica. And if you encounter John and that other guy…kill them.”

“Yes sir, Mr. Malum,” said Mischa bitterly, walking to the door.

Mischa left Josiah’s office, his boss’s mocking laughter following him the entire way. Through the corridors of the Pentagon he trudged, noticing no one and unnoticed by them as well. Reaching the exit, he sighed, cursing his bad luck.

“If only this could be the last time I had to walk through this door!” he lamented.

Mischa, slowly walking down the streets of Washington, pondered the events that had just taken place. He had finally seen a door out, only to have it slam mercilessly in his face. It just didn’t seem fair.

But as he approached the airport, Mischa realized that there was a solution to his problem. He stupidly blurted his conclusion aloud:

“I’m going to betray Josiah Malum!”

“I heard that, Mischa!” said Josiah, who had been following him the whole time. “So you’re planning to betray me, are you?”

“N-no, sir! I said…I said…I’m going to beat…Ray, Josiah Malum,” said Mischa.

“Who’s Ray?” demanded Josiah.

“M-my cousin. He is a terrible Ping-Pong player,” answered Mischa. “I am going to beat him at Ping-Pong!”

“Oh. Well good luck with that.”

Josiah left, placated, and a very relieved Mischa boarded the plane – on his way to Antarctica.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

2007-12-08T13:37:00.000-08:00

XVI
Early the next morning, John and Bill found themselves in the middle of the vast, frigid continent known only as Antarctica.

“Hey John! How are we in Antarctica?” asked Bill.

“Isn’t it obvious?”

Dismissing Bill’s question as pointless and puerile, John started walking, and Bill followed. The two began frantically searching for the Red Herring, confident that they would find it quickly.
Of course, they had failed to take into account the fact that Antarctica is rather large; and having absolutely no idea where to look for the Herring, it was really very futile.

“On a futility scale from one to ten, this is at least a six!” complained John after three hours of fruitless searching, staring hopelessly at the barren desolation all around him.

Then something else dawned upon John – they were in the middle of Antarctica without any means of survival. If the climate didn’t finish them, starvation was nearly sure to. Zeal had turned to frustration, and in the place of frustration, fear was starting to set in.

Bill, on the other hand, was having the time of his life. His mother had never let him see snow before, locking him in the basement whenever the cool white powder began to fall (“it’ll give you bad ideas!” she had claimed); so he was understandably excited. They walked on.

Hours passed and turned into days. Neither of them had a watch, so time was rather difficult to keep track of. At least, until Bill stopped lying about the watch he had.

Early one morning, as Bill prepared to throw yet another snowball at John, something caught his attention. He saw a strange figure standing on top of a snow-covered hill. Pausing for a moment to consider this new development, he hurled the frozen projectile there instead.

Of course, Bill’s aim was terrible, so it still hit John.

“Dammit Bill, if you throw one more snowball at me, I’m going to slit your throat and use your blood to marinate my pork chops,” threatened John. “Oh, I could sure go for some pork chops right about now.”

“Look over there!” said Bill, pointing to the wrong hill.

John looked at the hill, seeing nothing; then out of habit looked at the hills around it, seeing the same figure Bill had. Surprised, he started running toward it, desperate for any clues that would help them find the elusive Red Herring.

“Hey you!” he called, clumsily plodding through the snow. “Who are you?”

As they approached the figure, it became all too clear who it was: Captain Arousing, now wearing a poncho of the finest violet silk, a rainbow bandana, and leather cowboy boots. It was quite remarkable that he hadn’t frozen to death.

“YOU!” John yelled, tackling him. “You deceived me, you arousing fool! Nobody deceives me; I’m John Morgan, the smartest person in the world! Do you have any idea what my IQ is?”

“Settle down there, John. Think straight. I may be a spy for Josiah Malum, but I also flew you to Mexico. We’re even!” said Captain Arousing, trying to free himself.

“He has a point, John!” said Bill.

“Quiet, you!” John demanded. “Arousing, I’ve had it out for you for…about a day now. There’s no way I’m going to forgive you so quickly; I’m not that capricious!”

For a moment nobody said anything. A bitter wind cut through the air, a wind which seemed to underscore the bitter enmity between the two combatants. Finally, John spoke again.

“Okay, I forgive you. Why are you here?” he asked.

“The same reason you are, John. I’m looking for the Red Herring,” answered Captain Arousing. “Why don’t we team up and look for it together?”

“We’re working against each other!” protested John. “You’re trying to find it for the very man I’m trying to ensure doesn’t get it! Teaming up doesn’t make any sense at all; in fact, it’s probably the worst idea ever though of by anyone.”

“Aww, come on now. Not everything needs to make sense,” insisted the captain who, for some disturbing reason, was no longer trying to free himself.

Releasing Captain Arousing as quickly as possible, John stood up and hurried over to Bill, whom he considered the lesser of two…disturbances.

“Very well, Captain! We won’t kill you now,” he began, “but if we encounter you again on this quest, you shall not walk away!”

“Right, because I have an airplane.”

John shook his head, “That’s not what I meant.”

“Oh.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

2007-12-06T13:07:00.000-08:00

XV
The following morning, John woke up to find Bill pushing a trash-filled wheelbarrow around the room in circles. Wondering briefly where the wheelbarrow had come from, John sat up with a start, realizing where he was and why he was there.

“Oh cool, you’re awake! Flapjack the Ghost says that as long as you’re here, I can stop pushing the wheelbarrow!” said Bill, coming to a stop.

John blinked, rubbed his eyes, and stood up, walking over to the door. Right as he prepared to knock on it, it swung open: Sanchez was there.

“Good morning, Mr. Morgan. We have much to discuss,” said Sanchez, dressed in the same outfit he’d worn the previous day. “Come into my office.”

“We’re already here,” replied John.

“So we are,” Sanchez replied, walking over to his desk and sitting down. “Now, as you know, Shamus chose to send you here for hiding. Due to some recent developments, this is unfortunately no longer possible. It turns out that Josiah already knows you are here, and soon his men will find you.”

“What?! How could we have been found so quickly?” John demanded.

“I do not know,” answered Sanchez. “He could have found out any number of ways; it would be useless to try to pinpoint any one.”

Suddenly, John had an idea. He quickly fumbled through his coat pockets until he found what he was looking for: Captain Arousing’s business card. Holding it up to the single light illuminating Sanchez’s office, he read it:

Captain Arousing

Pilot – Josiah Malum’s Spy – Exotic Dancer

“Damn!” he yelled. “I should’ve read this thing when I first got it! And then killed Captain Arousing! How could I have been so foolish? I’m the last person who should be foolish, what with my extraordinary intelligence!”

“What is done, is done. Dwelling on the past, on your regrets, will amount to nothing. The crucial matter at hand is that you are no longer safe here. You must leave,” said Sanchez, calm despite their situation.

“Where do we have to go?” asked Bill. “Cause Flapjack says I can’t –”

“To hell with Flapjack!” interrupted John, causing Bill to cry. “We’ll go anywhere you tell us, as long as we can help fight Josiah Malum.”

“Very well. You must travel to Antarctica. Buried somewhere there is a valuable treasure: the legendary Red Herring. Josiah Malum has been searching for it for years; we do not know why,” said Sanchez. “If you manage to find it before he does, we will no doubt hold the key to thwarting him.”

“We’ll do it,” said John, resolved to take vengeance on Josiah and his men in any way possible. “We’ll do whatever it takes.”

“Excellent. You will face many dangers on this quest, but I am certain that devoting all our attention to the Red Herring is the wisest possible decision,” said Sanchez.

“I ate herring once,” said Bill. “I ate so much I threw up all over Mom’s new shoes that I was smelling. I love the smell of new shoes! And whiteout. Mom doesn’t buy me whiteout anymore. She says I should just stop making mistakes. She says that she hasn’t made one since my conception, whatever that means.”

Then Bill started looking for his wheelbarrow, which he thought was missing but was really right behind him.

Sanchez and John both cast a condescending glance at Bill before returning to each other. John was visibly nervous, Sanchez calm. He was the first to speak.

“Then it is decided: you shall leave tomorrow. I’ll stay here and sleep in…maybe get a taco for lunch…go bowling or something…yes, that sounds good.”

John suddenly realized something. “But I don’t see how we could possibly get to Antarctica. We don’t have a plane or anything.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

2007-12-04T14:25:00.000-08:00

XIV
Several hours later their plane landed in the middle of an empty field in Mexico. Aside from Captain Arousing’s outburst and Bill’s two near-death experiences, the flight had been relatively uneventful.

“Odd, I would’ve expected to land in an airport or something,” John remarked as the plane slowly came to a stop.

“Attention all passengers, this is your captain, Captain Arousing. We have to land in the middle of this field because I’ve forgotten where the airport is. That is all,” said Captain Arousing.

John and Bill left the plane and looked around at their barren surroundings.

“You wouldn’t happen to know where we are, would you Bill?” asked John. “Wait – don’t answer that. I don’t even know why I asked.”

The sky was clear, completely cloudless. The landscape was unusually flat, and there was no vegetation save the tumbleweeds, which intermittently passed by.

Bill, of course, thought they wanted to play, so he chased after them, but he always grew bored before he could catch up.

They walked for hours, the sun growing steadily hotter. John had a pair of sunglasses, but for Bill, the glare was hard to bear. Hey, that rhymed!

Around midday, John noticed that Captain Arousing was following them and, indeed, had been doing so the whole time.

“Can I help you?” he asked, suspicious.

“I just thought I’d give you my card, in case, you know, you wanna hang out or something,” replied the captain, handing John a pale lavender business card.

John hesitantly took the card and, without reading it, slipped it into his coat pocket, intending to discard it as soon as possible. He began walking a bit faster, and Bill – predictably – followed.

They walked for another hour or so before finally reaching a city, which neither John nor Bill could identify.

“I just realized something, Bill,” said John. “Shamus never told us who is contact was, or where to find him.”

Bill looked around for a minute and pointed at a tall, wiry man whose face was obscured by a large sombrero. He was leaning against a building and reading a newspaper.

“Maybe that’s him!” he suggested.

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous. Of all the people in this country, what are the odds that –”

“Hello,” said the man, walking up to John and Bill. “I am Sanchez, Shamus Flanagan’s contact. Welcome to Mexico."

John gaped open-mouthed at Sanchez, then shook his head, regaining his composure. He looked over at Bill, who was now happily pretending to be an airplane. Turning back to Sanchez, he noticed that the man’s eyes seemed to burn with a furious intensity. Clearly, this was not someone to be crossed.

“Uh, hi, Sanchez. I’m John Morgan,” said John, holding out his hand for Sanchez to shake.

“I know who you are, Mr. Morgan. And I know why you have come. I have much to explain. Follow me,” said Sanchez, ignoring John’s hand.

“I’m Bill!”

“Sanchez...does not care.”

John and Bill followed Sanchez through the busy streets of whichever city they were in (they never did bother to find out) for about an hour. They were very tired of walking. Sanchez didn’t come across as a physically powerful man, but as he walked through the crowd, people got out of his way.

They moved in silence, John and Bill being unsure of what to say to Sanchez and too worried about offending him to converse with each other.

At length they came to a nondescript brick building, into which Sanchez led them. They followed him into a plain room with little furniture. He locked the door and sat down behind a practical-looking desk.

“Before we begin, I must ask you something. Rest assured that whatever is said in this room shall remain in this room,” said Sanchez.

“Go on,” replied John.

“Do you find me attractive? I mean, in a platonic way,” asked Sanchez.

“Umm…sure,” answered John cautiously. “But only if that’s the answer you wanted.”

“Excellent. Now, we may proceed. As you are both aware, Josiah Malum is plotting to – well, you know what he’s plotting, so I won’t bother saying it; that would just be a waste of time. And we do not have time to waste. So, you are also aware that he is hunting you down with great vengeance and furious anger; and that, my friends, is why you have come to me.”

“Right,” said John. “But who are you?”

“I am a member of an ancient organization created to defeat evil whenever convenient: the Noble Brotherhood of Altruism – NBA for short,” said Sanchez.

“But isn’t there already a – ”

“Yes, our lawyers are still working on that. Anyway, I’m one of its leaders. So is Shamus. We are, in fact, the only two leaders. As you’ve probably inferred, we, the adversaries of evil, have been rather busy since Josiah Malum was appointed. It is getting late. I’ll explain more tomorrow. For now, you should get some sleep.”

“But there are no beds,” noticed John.

“I knew I was forgetting something. Goodnight.”

Sanchez left the room, locking the door behind him.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

2007-12-02T20:29:00.000-08:00

XIII
John and Bill sat together on the plane, waiting for their flight to begin. John was still nervous about their predicament, but he was relieved, confident that the situation was – at least for the moment – under control. Bill wasn’t worried about anything in particular, but he was unreasonably excited, never having been allowed to ride an airplane before.

“I hear we get peanuts! Do we get peanuts?” asked Bill.

“Yes. Yes we do,” replied an already irritated John.

“Oh. I’m allergic to peanuts,” answered Bill.

John gave a dismissive grunt of annoyance and took out one of the complimentary flight magazines, which he started to read with great interest.

“So what’s this thing called again?” asked Bill.

“What the hell are you talking about?” questioned John.

“You know! The thing we’re in!” answered Bill.

“You mean…the airplane?” asked an incredulous John.

“Right! Right, the airplane. What’s an airplane?”

“Like a flying car.”

“Car?”

“Like a moving box.”

“I see. What’s a – ”

John took his complimentary pillow and shoved it violently into Bill’s face, transforming his annoying questions into muffled grunts. After a minute or two, Bill more or less stopped struggling, so John let go of the pillow and returned to his magazine.

“Now that is a quality flowerpot!” he said, something catching his eye.

There were no other passengers on the plane, since the flight left at 3:00 AM, a very inconvenient time for most people, especially taking into consideration the fact that the airline also offered a 6:00 AM flight to the same destination. Why there was a 3:00 AM flight at all remains a mystery to this day.

After the inevitable twenty minutes or so of sitting around waiting for something to happen, the plane slowly started to move. Around this time, Bill regained consciousness, much to John’s dismay.

As the aircraft rolled down the runway, steadily picking up speed, an announcement came over the loudspeaker. Hearing the disembodied voice, Bill thought it was God.

“Attention all passengers: I’m Captain Arousing. I’ll be your captain on this flight. That is all,” said the captain.

“What a strange name,” mused John.

Instantaneously, the door to the cockpit burst open and a large, arousing man stormed out of it. He had a pair of unnecessary flight goggles strapped to his forehead and wore only a powder blue kimono. He looked as though he would make a fine stripper.

“Which one of you assholes was making fun of my name?” he demanded, looking menacingly from Bill to John with his fists raised.

“I was,” replied John.

“Oh, all right then,” said Captain Arousing.

He turned around and returned to the cockpit, whistling an erotic tune. John returned to his magazine, casting a disapproving glance at Bill, whose face was pressed up against the window. And John had the window seat.

“Do you mind?” asked John acidly.

“No, you can read. It’s all right with me!” said Bill.

The flight continued, and Bill was delighted, even though there was no in-flight movie, to which he’d been looking forward greatly.

About two hours in, John, realizing that Bill was almost certainly utterly clueless as to what was going on, decided to fill the man in on the circumstances of their situation.

“Now because I ripped up that letter, I’ve been marked as a target by the Department of Evil. Shamus Flanagan is working against them for some reason. We’re going to Mexico to hide and meet up with Shamus’s contact. Still with me?” asked John.

“I’m sitting right next to you, duh!” answered Bill.

Ignoring Bill completely, John continued, “It seems Josiah Malum is trying to go ahead with his plan despite my brilliant interference.”

“What is his plan, anyway?” asked Bill.

“I’ll tell you later. So although we’re going to Mexico to hide, I think we should also try to do everything in our power to stop him. I’m sure Shamus’s contact will help us out with that. Agreed?”

Bill, however, couldn’t answer, as he’d eaten a bag of peanuts and was slowly dying.

“God dammit Bill.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

2007-11-30T09:41:00.000-08:00

XII
Where they were going, John didn’t know, but thither he drove, ever mindful that Mischa Petrovitch may well have been after them. As it turned out, he wasn’t, but John didn’t know that either.

In fact, Mischa couldn’t possibly have been chasing them, since he’d had his license revoked the previous month, part of a settlement he’d been forced to sign after crashing his car into an arbophile’s special oak tree.

But he had connections.

Immediately after John and Bill escaped, Mischa called Josiah, who (after excoriating Mischa for calling collect) notified his contacts in the military. Within minutes, a pair of Apache helicopters were in hot pursuit of John’s purple Honda.

“Where are we going, John?” asked a curious Bill.

The needle on John’s speedometer had broken off miles ago; he’d never driven so quickly before.

“If you ask me that one more time, I’m ripping out your kidneys and selling them on the black market,” replied John, sharply turning left for no apparent reason.

After pondering that for a moment, Bill said, “My mom doesn’t let me in that store.”

“It’s not an actual store, you idiot; it’s just a blanket term applied to illicit businesses and transactions,” said John.

“My blanket’s made from goose feathers!” bragged Bill.

John sighed, then turned right. Suddenly, however, he heard the unmistakable sound of twin Apache helicopters, approaching far more quickly than he could ever hope to outrun them.

“Oh no!” he yelled. “That strange Russian man has sent the military after us. We’re doomed!”

“Don’t worry John, I’ll take care of them!” claimed Bill.

Bill stuck his head out the window, turned around, and started making machine gun noises while pointing his fingers at the helicopters. One of them exploded, but the other was closing in fast.

John continued driving, making another sharp right. Then he saw a road sign. Without realizing it, John had managed to bring them to within a very short distance of the local airport.

“If I can get us into the airport, we may be able to take a plane to safety!” he thought, pulling into the parking lot and hurriedly exiting the car. “Come on, Bill!”

John and Bill ran through the parking lot, unnecessarily leaping over speed bumps and savagely pushing aside dozens of innocent bystanders.

The two ran into the airport and made for the nearest terminal, but much to their dismay, no fewer than two dozen US Marines were already there on patrol, having been sent straight to the airport by Josiah, who was really, really good at planning ahead. John grabbed Bill and pulled him up against a wall, shielding them from the marines’ line of sight.

“Bill, don’t let them see you,” cautioned John, now speaking in a whisper. “They’ll shoot you on sight. And then they’d shoot me, which would be a bad thing.”

“I bet I can yell louder than you can!” boasted Bill, bellowing boisterously.

Before John could berate his foolish companion, the marines came running toward them, and John and Bill were again forced to run for their lives.

Through the airport they dashed, once again pushing aside bystanders (many of whom weren’t in their way) and jumping over speed bumps (which only Bill could see). They made it to the exit and burst through the door.

As soon as they did, however, they saw a pitch-black Escalade driving right toward them. It stopped abruptly, and out stepped Josiah Malum, along with Mischa and, for some reason, the driver. John and Bill, afraid, turned around again, only to see the marines filing out of the airport, guns ready.

“You’ve led us on quite a chase, Mr. Morgan; but I’m afraid it ends here,” said Josiah, taking out a pack of cigarettes as he slowly stepped forward. “Kill him.”

The marines started firing, but Josiah’s driver suddenly lunged forward, tackling John and Bill to the ground, saving them from the deadly volley of bullets. Before he landed, John had just enough time to catch a brief glimpse of the man’s emerald green tie – it was Shamus Flanagan!

“You’d best be leavin’ the fighting to me, laddies!” he said, rolling up his sleeves and walking confidently toward the marines.

Without waiting to be told, the marines charged at Shamus. Completely unafraid, Shamus proceeded to take down every marine there, using a unique combination of boxing, Muy Thai and Irish dance – an impressive sight to behold.

“Why aren’t they using their guns?” demanded Josiah. “Shoot him, you idiots! And what the hell happened to those helicopters?”

As soon as Shamus was finished dispatching his adversaries, he turned to the Secretary of Evil, who quickly hopped into his car and sped away, driving it himself (for the first time he could remember). Mischa, upon seeing his boss desert him, looked around nervously for other options, then started chasing after the Escalade.

Shamus, casually dusting himself off, walked over to John and Bill, a broad grin spreading across his face. He straightened his tie, took a four-leaf clover out of his pocket and kissed it.

“Well laddies, looks like I took care of ‘em!” said Shamus cheerfully, tucking the clover carefully back into his pocket.

“Who are you? What just happened?” asked John, clearly confused. “Don’t you own a restaurant?”

“No time to explain now, me lad. No, you’d best be goin’ off somewhere to hide for a while, till me and me boys straighten things out,” he suggested.

“Where?” asked John.

“I’ve got a fine friend in Mexico; he’ll look after ya for a while,” said Shamus. “Hurry up now, don’t tarry!”

Bill and John walked back into the airport and bought plane tickets for the next flight to Mexico, pushing aside many innocent bystanders as they stood in line.

“Well John, I –”

“Whatever it is, don’t say it.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

2007-11-28T19:41:00.000-08:00

XI
Bill had inexplicably managed to convince John to attend the party, so the two met up in front of the Clark Bar (which they were no longer permitted to enter) and set off for 666 Death Row, a location John shoedly – sorry, shrewdly – found rather suspicious.

As they walked down the dark, narrow street, they noticed that there was nobody else outside. No lights were on in any buildings, and gusts of cold wind frequently made Bill shiver. John had had the foresight to bring a jacket, evidently being smart enough to have realized it was mid-December.

“I’m a little surprised that we haven’t even seen a car yet,” said John as they passed yet another seemingly unoccupied building.

“I know what you mean! I want to drive a racecar!” said Bill, agreeing to a statement nobody had made.

They arrived at their destination to find an imposing concrete building, somehow even darker than the others on the block. When John looked at it, his stomach lurched, more violently even than after a meal at Mexican Munchies. He shifted his gaze to the ground and started to shudder, but then he noticed that Bill was also shuddering, so he forced himself to stop, so as to look better by comparison.

Looking up at the building again, John could discern – although barely, what with all the darkness – a stone archway that surrounded a large wooden door, in the center of which was a door knocker crafted from what appeared to be a man’s skull but was actually a woman’s.

“I don’t know why, but I have a really bad feeling about this, Bill,” said John. “I think you should go in first. If you don’t die, I’ll know it’s safe.”

“Okay!” said a cheerful Bill, traipsing to the entranceway and knocking.

“Who’s there?” came an irritated voice from behind the door with a heavy Russian accent.

“I’m Bill!” said Bill.

“Did you intercept a letter addressed to the editor of Newsweek?” asked the Russian even more irritably.

“No, that was my friend John! John Morgan. He’s standing out here with me though, if you want to meet him,” replied Bill.

John, furious with but not at all surprised at Bill’s stupidity, impulsively ran up to Bill and smacked him across the head, right as the door swung open to reveal Mischa Petrovitch, Deputy Secretary of Evil of the United States of America.

“John Morgan, come in! It is time for your execution. I mean, party,” said Mischa, glancing around nervously, as if he expected Josiah to come belittle him any second.

John looked askance at Mischa, then at the room behind him. It reminded him strongly of a sepulchre, probably due to the multitude of corpses lying around the place, which aside from those corpses was actually quite elegant. A magnificent purple rug covered the floor, and the walls were painted gold. The expensive, ancient rug had belonged to Josiah’s parents, until he had them executed; now it lay on the floor of Josiah’s favorite ancillary building. With a bunch of corpses.

“It’s the ironic juxtaposition that makes it such an effective decoration, Mischa,” Josiah had said. “You wouldn’t understand it.”

But John did – he understood all too well.

“Bill! We need to get out of here,” said John, frequently glancing backward, already planning an escape route.

Bill, however, had failed to notice anything suspicious at all, and he was quite looking forward to a terrific party. He entered the building, waiting for John to follow.

“Aww, come on John – it’s just a party. What could possibly go wrong?” foreshadowed Bill, as Mischa picked up an assault rifle from a nearby table.

Firing his Kalashnikov indiscriminately, Mischa started spouting incomprehensible Russian obscenities. Bill had found a bowl of chips and was looking for dip.

John, however, had been prepared for such an unfortunate turn of events, and with his only exit being continuously pelted by bullets, he knew he had to stay and fight.

Not owning a gun, he’d been forced to bring the next best weapon he possessed: a small sack of marbles. Swinging it above his head to gain momentum, he hurled it at Mischa, missing and hitting Bill, who collapsed.

“Damn!” swore John, desperately searching for something else to use as a weapon.

Mischa, exuding a confidence he rarely had a chance to exude, boasted, “My boss, Josiah Malum, Secretary of Evil, will be very pleased! By killing you, I am fulfilling his orders. And – oh no…I sure hope I don’t trip on those marbles!”

Mischa tripped, though it was solely his fear of tripping that made him do so; no marbles were even near him.

John took the opportunity to run, forgetting Bill – unless he left him behind intentionally…which seems more and more plausible, actually, the more I consider it.

John hurried back to his car to find Bill sitting in the passenger seat, eating a slice of pizza. Where, why, and how he’d obtained it, nobody knows. Including Bill.

Having no time to marvel at the sheer impossibility of Bill’s miraculous escape, but pausing to snatch the remainder of his pizza, John drove quickly away with swift, rapid speed.

“Well, that was fun!” said Bill.

“I really, really hate you.”

CHAPTER TEN

2007-11-26T09:03:00.000-08:00

X
“ – newly elected Pope, Keanu Reeves, is expected to begin his duties on Monday. In other news, if you came across a letter addressed to the editor of Newsweek and impeded its progress in any way, report to 666 Death Row for a…party. Yes, that’s it. A party. Speaking of parties, the Communist Party is at it again! A rally called ‘Heart for Bark’ was held in Mississippi earlier this week to grant local man Randy Bonaparte the right to wed his beloved oak tree, Missy…”

Bill was sitting on his living room floor playing with some Pokemon cards when the message was broadcast on the evening news. He leaped up, slipping on the recently waxed hardwood floor and flying headfirst into the wall. Undeterred, he picked himself up and began addressing a nonexistent companion.

“John imposticulated a letter addressed to the head of Newsweek! And my dad left my mom for a tree named Missy! But going back to the first thing I said, wow! John got invited to a party. I wonder if he’ll take me!” wondered Bill excitedly.

Dashing out of the room, slipping once more and again crashing into a wall (but a different wall this time), Bill took out his cell phone, which he’d only recently obtained, his mother being quite loath to give him any tools with which to communicate with the outside world. Running upstairs, he tried to call John, but John had never told Bill his phone number, so Bill just called a random one. Fortuitously, it was, in fact, John’s.

“This had better be important; I was singing lullabies to my petunias,” said John.

“John, it’s me, Bill! Bill Williams,” replied Bill.

“Ah, yes, hello Bill,” said John, gently caressing his flowers.

“The garbage man,” continued Bill.

“Right, I know who you are,” answered John.

“We went to a bar the other day,” said Bill.

“Get to the point, you idiot,” commanded John. “After this, I need to take a bath with my water lilies. They’re filthy!”

Completely unfazed, Bill asked, “Can I have $50?”

“Why the hell do you need $50?” demanded John, pouring copious amounts of bubble bath into his floral-pattern tub. “Moreover, why would you ask me? I’m extremely greedy, and broke, at least until my counterfeiting business picks up.”

“To buy a suit,” answered Bill.

“Why do you need a suit?” asked John.

“For the secret surprise party I’m bringing you to!” responded Bill.

John sighed in exasperation. “Well first of all, it’s not a surprise anymore, thanks to your moronic inability to keep a secret. And second, who on earth would throw a party for me? It’s probably a trap!” retorted John.

John suddenly heard a series of excessively loud beeps, which forced him to tear the phone away from his head. Bill had just figured out how to play “Mary Had a Little Lamb” with dial tones; he hadn’t been this amused in months.

Cursing Bill and pressing the phone back to his ear, John continued, “Are you sure this party is legitimate, Bill? I don’t want to find out this is somehow related to that letter I intercepted, because not only would that be dangerous; it’d also be trite and predictable.”

“Of course John! I’m really sued when it comes to things like this,” said Bill confidently.

John hesitated for a second.

“Do you mean shrewd?”

“Yeah, that’s it. Shoed.”

CHAPTER NINE

2007-11-24T10:02:00.000-08:00

IX
Mischa sat in the back of Josiah Malum’s jet-black Escalade. Josiah was running an errand, the nature of which he refused to reveal, and he’d ordered Mischa to remain in the car. Mischa, insufferably bored, once tried talking to the driver, a large man with a tie as green as the emerald isles. There was no response.

Finally, the car door opened and Josiah entered the vehicle, smirking maliciously. He carried a nondescript brown bag, which he hurriedly shoved under his leather seat as he bade the driver start the car. As the Escalade began rolling down the busy road, Mischa remarkably mustered the courage to ask Josiah what he’d been doing.

“That’s none of your business, Mischa. We still need to discuss your most recent blunder,” retorted Josiah, his cold eyes flashing Mischa a look of sheer hatred.

“B-blunder, sir? W-what are you talking about?” asked Mischa.

“When I said to locate our target ‘by any means necessary,’ I mistakenly assumed you’d come up with something more efficacious than asking him to report for his own execution. Nobody would be stupid enough to do that, Mischa! Well, maybe you would, now that I think about it…” said Josiah.

“No, to lure him to his death will require subtlety and tact, of neither of which you seem to possess even the slightest amount.”

“W-what do you r-recommend, sir?” inquired Mischa.

“I’m going to find this man myself,” said Josiah, now picking up the plain brown bag and resting it on his lap.

Mischa again wondered what Josiah was keeping in the bag, but he restrained himself from asking, instead focusing on Josiah’s plans to capture their antagonist. He looked out the window to clear his head, seeing nothing, as the windows had been tinted from the inside, specifically to make sure that Mischa never got to look out of them. It was another way of crushing his spirits - one of Josiah's personal favorites.

“How, sir?” asked Mischa.

“Your idea of a newscast was poor at best, but I think I’ll use it anyway. There will be one key difference though: my newscast will work. Do you know why, Mischa?” questioned Josiah.

“No, sir. Why?”

“Because I’m better than you!” answered the secretary, his voice rife with vitriol.

Mischa hung his head in shame as the car continued on its way. It hit a pothole, and Mischa, who on Josiah’s orders wasn’t wearing a seatbelt, fell out of his seat.

Josiah chuckled as he took out his cellular phone and quickly dialed a number. Pressing the phone up against his ear, he delivered a sharp kick to Mischa’s ribs, partly to get his attention and partly due to good old fashioned sadism.

“My contacts in the media will have my newscast on every channel in America tonight, Mischa. Even if our would-be thwarter doesn’t see it, someone who knows him will, and he’ll be led right to us,” said Josiah. “He’ll be dead by the end of the week, and then I’ll be able to move forward with my evil plan!”

Mischa, back on the seat, sat as still as he was able, making a conscious effort to imbibe every word his boss spoke, which was fairly difficult thanks to the searing pain in his ribs. Before long, however, the mysterious bag once again piqued his interest.

“S-sir, if I might be so b-bold as to inq-quire…what’s in the bag?” asked Mischa.

“I already told you, I’m not telling you,” said Josiah, reaching into the bag, pulling out a cookie and taking a bite.

Mischa lowered his head, disappointed.

CHAPTER EIGHT

2007-11-22T07:33:00.000-08:00

First and foremost, happy Thanksgiving. Second and forermost, here's the eighthest chapter in The Ultimate Book:

VIII
John and Bill sat together in the Clark Bar. The Clark Bar was – wait for it – a bar, and it was owned by a man named Robert Clark. In his earlier days, Bob had been a successful poet, but a rare liver disease had forced him to retire to a quiet life of bartending and alcoholism.

There were many things that made the Clark Bar unique. For starters, the walls were adorned with scrolls featuring Bob’s best poetry, all of which were autographed. Twice. Then twice more on the back.

Bob, never having been professionally trained as a bartender, didn’t serve too many drinks; in fact, he only knew how to make one: beer. And he didn’t make it either; he just ordered it. But he never paid for his shipments. Some say the feds are still after him to this day.

John, in keeping with his policy of being slightly less cruel to Bill, had decided to invite his new friend for a few drinks. Unfortunately, it soon transpired that Bill had a very low tolerance for alcohol, and after half a beer, he was out cold, lying supine on the hard wood floor.

“I may owe him my life, but he’s really starting to piss me off,” said John to himself as he repeatedly hit Bill over the head with an empty mug.

Bill finally came to, very disoriented – even more so than usual. He spun around in circles for a few minutes, then sat down on the barstool and started chewing on autographed napkins.

“Are you all right, Bill?” asked John.

“All what?” asked Bill.

“Right.”

“Left! Hahaha, I win!”

John opened his mouth, then shut it, going back to his drink. He noticed that there was a TV in the corner of the room, but it was off.

“Barkeep!” yelled John. “Switch on that television; I want to watch the news.”

Bob, who was cleaning a pitcher with a very filthy, very autographed rag, stared directly into John’s eyes, a look of pure revulsion on his face.

“Who the HELL do you think you are, giving orders in my bar? If you want that TV turned on, then go on home right now – begone!” he rhymed, gesticulating at all the appropriate intervals.

Taken aback and unsure whether to be impressed or horrified, John apologized and, against all logic, decided to make another attempt to engage Bill in conversation. Bill, however, had passed out again, which was quite odd, as he hadn’t been drinking anything.

“Wake up, Bill! We’re leaving,” said John.

Bill woke up instantly and started reciting the alphabet – slowly and inaccurately. John waited impatiently for Bill to finish, but as he was doing so, he heard the unmistakable sound of a newscaster.

“You turned on the TV?” he asked Bob, wondering what could have convinced the barkeep to change his mind.

“I also like to watch the news; I watch it while I’m selling booze,” replied the bartender. “Let’s listen to the woman talk; I wish I could have sex with her.”

“That didn’t rhyme,” noticed John.

“I know it didn’t rhyme!”

By that time, Bill had only reached the letter d, so John, acquiescing to defeat, sat back down on his autographed barstool and began watching the news.

“ –death count is expected to be well into the millions. In other news, if you recently intercepted a letter addressed to the editor of Newsweek, please report to the office of Mischa Petrovitch for execution.”

John stood up abruptly, knocking his barstool to the ground. He grabbed Bill by the shoulder and shook him violently.

“BILL! Did you hear that?” he asked.

“No,” said Bill. “Why, was it funny? I like funny things. You’re funny, you know that John? I think you should be a comedian. Or a mailman. I wish I were a mailman. I remember a funny joke I heard –”

“This is no time for humor!” shouted John, who was now receiving hostile glares from every patron in the Clark Bar.

Bob, who was much more intelligent than he let on, had managed to put two and two together. He knew exactly what was happening. He set down the mug he was cleaning and turned to John, pointing at him authoritatively to get his attention.

“I’ve got no clue what’s happening here, but I think you’ve had too much beer. I’ll say this once, for I’m no mime: hurry up please, it’s time!”

“Actually, I think you’re right, barkeep. Come on Bill…we need to go,” said John quietly.

“Hurry up please, it’s time! Hurry up please, it’s time!” repeated Bob.

“Hahaha! He keeps saying it! Look John, I bet he’ll say it again!” said Bill, eagerly watching Bob.

But Bob, of course, was fully still; he started scowling right at Bill. As Bill was saddened by the glare, he followed John right out of there.

CHAPTER SEVEN

2007-11-19T12:17:00.000-08:00

VII
Josiah Malum was irate. Three weeks had passed since the day Mischa had sent the letter, but it had yet to appear in Newsweek – and it was now doubtful that it ever would. Josiah was not a very patient man. Deep in the Pentagon, in his private chamber, he sat across from his assistant and eyed him contemptuously.

“Mischa,” began Josiah menacingly, “we have a problem.”

“W-what’s the problem, sir?” asked Mischa, whom people now frequently mistook for having a severe case of Parkinson’s.

“When I asked you three weeks ago, you informed me that you had sent the letter to Newsweek. For 21 days, I have waited; but I refuse to wait any longer. I demand answers!
There are, as I see it, two possibilities: Either you lied to me, and you never mailed the letter at all; or it was intercepted. So which is it, Mischa?” demanded Josiah.

“S-sir, I assure you, I sent the l-letter!” pleaded Mischa.

“Very well. Then it was stopped,” concluded Josiah. “Somebody is interfering with our plans. This means we have yet another obstacle to overcome.”

“W-what obstacle is that, sir?” inquired a quaking Mischa.

Josiah was silent for a moment.

“You’re an idiot.”

He stood up, lighting a cigarette as he did. Slowly he began pacing around the table, stopping every few seconds and glancing upward, as if searching for some sort of inspiration (in reality he was making a note of all the light fixtures that needed replacing). Mischa never dared to look away from his boss, and his eyes followed Josiah across the room.

Suddenly Josiah looked directly at Mischa, who fearfully leaned back in his chair and fell crashing to the floor.

“Mischa! I have a new assignment for you. Whoever intercepted this letter obviously didn’t want it to be printed. It thus stands to reason that he must be prevented from interfering any further. Before I continue with my plan, I want this man killed,” stated Josiah. “And you’re paying for that chair. That’s the third one you’ve broken this week.”

“K-killed, sir? Isn’t that a bit…extreme?” asked Mischa, pretending not to have heard Josiah’s last comment as he lay immobile on the ground.

Josiah glared at Mischa. He didn’t speak, but his message was painfully clear. Mischa began to cry, and Josiah let out a sigh of frustration.

“God dammit, not again. Mischa! Stop crying!” he commanded. “I still can’t believe I hired him over that assassin who applied. What the hell was I thinking?”

Mischa, sniffling, regained what little composure he had. Wiping his eyes on his sleeve and picking himself up, he began nodding slowly and then tried to sit down on the chair he’d just broken, which he shortly remembered was…broken.

“I-I’ll do it, sir! B-but, how do I find him?” asked Mischa, now opting to stand.

Josiah, exhaling a cloud of smoke, flashed a mirthless smile and sat down. He folded his hands and leaned forward portentously.

“By any means necessary.”

Josiah’s laughter reverberated cacophonously throughout the room. Mischa nervously joined in, but Josiah interrupted him.

“Only I may laugh, Mischa.” he said. “You're not evil enough.”

“S-sorry sir.”

CHAPTER SIX

2007-11-17T08:03:00.000-08:00

VI
It was now Thursday of the same week. John hadn’t talked to Bill since his foiled suicide attempt on Tuesday, and he was looking forward to seeing his new friend again, kind of.

John drove his mail truck toward the final house on his route, just as he’d done the previous Tuesday and just as he’d done on hundreds of days before. But this time, something was amiss.

“Something is amiss,” said John, bringing the truck to a premature stop.

He looked out his left window and saw Bill happily pushing his wheelbarrow toward some destination unfathomable to all rational human beings. Bill, noticing John, turned to his friend and started waving, dropping his wheelbarrow and spilling garbage everywhere; but John – as he had been wont to do in the past – ignored him.

“Something is definitely amiss,” John repeated, now looking down at the letter he was about to deliver.

It was unsealed, much as the last one had been. John, however, made no move to read it. Something held him back; there was something unsettling about that letter. Instead, John turned it over, looking at the return address with great interest.

“Mischa Petrovitch, Department of Evil,” read John aloud. “And it’s addressed to Newsweek. The man in that house is the editor of Newsweek? That’s odd. I should’ve known something like that; I’m supposed to know everything!”

John, caught up in his conceited contumely, grew steadily more determined; he resolved to read this letter, come hell or high water. Or Bill.

Bill came.

“Hey John! Didn’t you see me waving? What’s up? What are you doing? Delivering mail? I wish I could deliver mail, but I’m just a garbage man. I took the mailman test once, but I failed. My mom –”

“ – Took away your X-Box, I know. Not today, Bill. I’m about to transgress the boundaries that separate postman from postbeast. I’m about to read this letter!” said John.

Bill gasped, horrified. In reality, he had no qualms at all with what John was about to do, but he figured John would appreciate a powerful reaction.

John took the letter out of its envelope and began reading aloud: “Dear Editor, I am writing this to express my sincere displeasure with…GOOD GOD!”

“What is it, John?” asked Bill.

“It’s – I – I can’t say! It’s unspeakably evil!” said John, his expression slowly changing from horrified revulsion to steadfast resolve. “I know what I have to do. I can’t allow this letter to reach its destination. I must destroy it.”

“Cool! It’s just like Lord of the Rings! Are we going on a quest to a volcano? I’ll bring ice cubes so it doesn’t get too hot!” said Bill.

John quickly tore up the letter, then looked over at Bill and said, “I’m sorry, what? I was ripping up this letter; I couldn’t hear you.”

“Never mind,” replied Bill, clearly disappointed.

He cheered up instantly, however, as a passing butterfly caught his attention. Immediately he took off, in hot pursuit of the elusive insect.

“Well, that’s the end of that,” said John.

CHAPTER FIVE

2007-11-15T13:57:00.000-08:00

But first I'm going to thank all the people who have thus far told me they like what they've seen (you're awesome), and excoriate all the people who haven't (I hate you). Seriously though, leave comments so I have something to read other than that hit counter I'm always compulsively checking.

And tell your friends. Or enemies. I don't care. I just need more free advertising.

***

V
With Josiah Malum’s threat looming constantly over his head, Mischa Petrovitch was extremely careful. He set to work on the task to which he’d been assigned, assiduously checking and double-checking every punctilio – even the slightest error could mean failure.

“This letter to the editor is perfect! Mr. Malum will be very pleased,” said Mischa to no one in particular as he hit the “save” key and printed out his letter.

Yes, Mischa’s assignment was a relatively simple one, at least for now. He had been ordered to send an indignant letter to the editor of Newsweek.

The contents of this letter – which, incidentally, give away the gist of Josiah’s plan, and subsequently the contrivances of the Department of Evil – I won’t reveal, but Josiah had continuously emphasized the importance of perfection, and Mischa was not one to question his superiors.

The letter finished printing and Mischa read it aloud, making sure it was indeed flawless. Once satisfied he placed it into an envelope, addressed it and strutted out of the Radio Shack where he’d been typing. He was much more confident without Josiah around.

“So sir, are you interested in buying that computer?” asked a helpful clerk as Mischa stood up.

“No. Sucker!” shouted Mischa, running for the exit.

The clerk (who hated being insulted) took out his handy handgun and fired a few shots in Mischa’s general direction; but never having used a gun before, he was a terrible marksman, and Mischa managed to escape, letter in hand.

“That was close. Now I understand what Mr. Malum meant when he told me of the high risk of failure!” thought Mischa as he ran through the mall toward a mailbox, of whose location he had only the faintest inkling.

A few security guards noticed his running and tried to stop him, but nothing could stop Mischa now, except maybe a wall. Inevitably, he soon ran into one, giving himself a painful lump on the forehead.

Now moving much more slowly, Mischa limped out of the mall and through the parking lot. At the other end was a sidewalk, and along this sidewalk was, most conveniently, a mailbox.

He slipped the letter inside, exhaled deeply, and sat down on the curb, exhausted but satisfied. A black Cadillac Escalade suddenly drove up beside him and stopped abruptly. Mischa looked up as the window rolled down.

It was Josiah.

“Mischa!” he yelled, quite unnecessarily.

Mischa, already completely aware of Josiah’s presence, nevertheless gave a startled jump, landing on his back. Groaning with renewed pain and now shaking with fear, he stood up, looking apprehensively at his cruel boss.

“W-what is it, sir?” he asked.

“Did you send the letter yet, Mischa?” asked Josiah, smoking another cigarette.

“Yes sir, I d-did, sir! I t-typed it up in R-radio Shack, and I mailed it just now!” said Mischa proudly. “It w-wasn’t easy though. The shopkeeper, he tried to sh-shoot me!”

Josiah stared at Mischa, hardly daring to believe what he’d just heard. A wave of indescribable fury began to boil up inside of him, but when he next spoke, it was with his usual coolness – Josiah Malum masked his emotions very well.

“You typed the letter on a public computer? You typed the letter in the middle of a crowded mall?” demanded Josiah.

“W-well, you see, sir, I had to s-sell my home computer to b-buy food after you c-c-cut my pay again, so I figured –”

“MISCHA!” yelled Josiah, finally abandoning his usual air of calmness, “That letter was the first and arguably most important part of a brilliantly evil and convoluted scheme! Typing it in public is quite possibly the stupidest thing you could have done! At least tell me you had the sense not to save it?”

“Umm…I don’t…think I did, sir,” lied Mischa, now shaking so severely it was a wonder he managed to stay on his feet.

Josiah shook his head, “For your sake, Mischa, I hope you didn’t. Because if you did, you’re going to get the spanking of a lifetime!”

Mischa Petrovitch fainted.

CHAPTER FOUR

2007-11-14T13:42:00.000-08:00

IV
John drove as fast as he could to Suicide Bridge (an eerily appropriate name) and parked a few feet away, not even bothering to lock his door. The bridge itself was constructed from now-weathered stone, and it was situated sixty feet above a lake.

Lake Suicide (this was a very uncreative town) was ridiculously shallow, littered with jagged rocks that pointed upward, as if a thousand stone fingers were flipping off the heavens. Rumor had it that the lake was also inhabited by man-eating monsters, though this claim was never proven, except once, when two men on a fishing trip were mysteriously eaten.

John got out of his car and walked slowly, deliberately to the center of the bridge, a look of grim determination now etched onto his perpetually scowling face. He stared down thoughtfully into the abyss below, black water pounding violently against the numerous rocks.

“I always knew my death would be the result of jumping off a bridge. That fortune cookie really nailed it,” he mused.

As he leaned over the edge and prepared to leap, a familiar voice interrupted his thinking.

“John! Hey John, what are you doing? Going swimming? Can I come too? I love swimming! As long as the water doesn’t go above my ankles, I mean. Then I get scared,” said Bill, cheerfully unaware of John’s intentions.

“No Bill, I’m not going swimming. I’m about to kill myself, and I’ll thank you to let me die in peace,” explained John.

“You’re gonna kill yourself?!” exclaimed Bill, alarmed. “You can’t do that! You’re the only person who’s ever been nice to me!”

“Nice to you? I haven’t been nice to you! I broke your nose last week!” argued John, perplexed and frustrated.

“But you also taught me to believe in myself,” said Bill.

“No I didn’t,” said John venemously.

“Oh, right. Well you still can’t kill yourself, John. It’s just like my mom used to say: ‘Life is like a box of exploding tissues. You can wipe your nose with them, but then they’ll explode, and you’ll be in pain, and it’ll be much worse than just having to wipe your nose, so you’re really better off not using them at all, since they do more harm than good,’” said Bill.

John stared blankly at Bill for a few seconds.

“I’m so confused I can’t do it anymore. Thanks Bill. You stopped me from making a big mistake. I’ve never known anyone who cared so much about me before,” said John. “But I have to ask: how did you get here so quickly? I was driving the whole time, and you didn’t have a car.”

Bill began loudly counting a flock of passing birds, and John decided to drop the subject. Abandoning his car for no reason at all, he and Bill walked home. Despite all their differences, there was no denying that John and Bill were now officially friends.

“Let’s get one thing straight, Bill: I may be walking home with you, but we’re only friends on a completely unofficial basis.”

CHAPTER THREE

2007-11-13T11:17:00.000-08:00

III
Shamus Flanagan’s Mexican Munchies was the only Mexican restaurant in town, which explained how the proprietor got away with being Irish. It was an excellent dining establishment, with good food, good prices, and rainbow-colored menus.

Shamus himself was a retired boxer who at one point was on the Japanese Olympic boxing team (being an obsessive anime fan, he’d taken a pilgrimage to Japan that just happened to coincide with the time Olympic trials were held and figured he might as well go for it). He was a large, well-muscled man who knew very little about restaurant ownership yet still attracted an impressive crowd for some reason.

Bill and John walked into the restaurant and were quickly seated; the place was busy, but somehow, there were always seats available. John was trying to make polite small talk with his companion, to little avail; and he was most grateful when Shamus took their orders, granting him a small reprieve.

For a brief while, John and Bill sat around the shamrock-shaped table, waiting for their food. John was now sincerely regretting his decision to invite Bill to dinner.

“So then the teacher said it was for my own good. My bottom was really sore though. I couldn’t sit down for a week!” said Bill. “So how was your day, John?”

“Wait a minute: if she spanked you today, how could you possibly know how long it would be until you could sit down?” inquired John. “And for that matter, how could you have been in school today? You were working…well, in a manner of speaking...”

Bill grinned fatuously, then stood up and started doing jumping jacks. John buried his face in his hands, once again contemplating suicide.

Shamus (who in addition to owning the restaurant, cooked the food and waited on the customers) walked over to their table, two plates of food in hand. His eyes were a stunningly radiant green, though nobody knew for certain whether that color was natural – except for me, that is (it wasn’t).

“The Haggis Fiesta?” he asked.

“Right here!” exclaimed Bill, shooting his hand into the air excitedly. “That’s what I ordered!”

“And…the Shepherd’s Pie Tacos?”

“Well, obviously they’re for me; I’m the only other person sitting here,” explained John sardonically.

“You got a problem, laddie? I’ve been a restaurateur for nigh a month now, so if there be a problem, you can take it up with me and me boys here!” said Shamus, kissing his muscles just a tad too passionately.

“Just give me my food,” demanded John.

“All right then, enjoy your meals!” said Shamus, setting down the tacos and skipping away.

Bill and John ate in silence. Well, John did, anyway. Bill was, as usual, talking up a storm.

Literally.

“So then the power went out! I couldn’t watch TV, I couldn’t play my X-Box, I couldn’t have fun switching the lights on and off…it was real boring,” said Bill.

John resolutely kept focused on his tacos, a delightfully discordant fusion of Mexican and Irish cuisine. Soon, however, Bill’s incessant chatter got the best of him.

“Shut up, Bill! I can’t stand another minute of this vacuous piffle!” yelled John.

“Why? What’s wrong? Did they not cook it enough?” asked Bill.

John’s eyes widened as he shook his head slowly, then turned his attention back to his meal. The urge to kill himself was growing ever stronger.

Bill, of course, simply thought that John hadn’t heard him, so he repeated his question.

“That’s it, I’m out of here,” said John abruptly, tossing his napkin and $50 onto the table and making for the door. Bill stood up obediently.

“So am I!” he declared, marching proudly behind John.

John started walking faster, then broke into a run, jumping into his Honda and beginning to drive away without even closing the door. Through his mirror he could see Bill following him, panting and waving.

“John! You forgot me! Hey John! John? John!” he called, now completely out of breath. “Boy, he’s gonna feel stupid when he realizes I’m not there!”

Meanwhile, John was driving at top speed – on his way to commit suicide.

CHAPTER TWO

2007-11-12T12:47:00.000-08:00

II
Mischa Petrovitch sat trembling at a gigantic conference table deep in the heart of the Pentagon. No one else was sitting there, and there was in fact only one other man in the room at all, who had opted to stand instead: Josiah Malum, the newly appointed Secretary of Evil.

In recent years, the government had created a number of new Cabinet offices. One of these was the Department of Evil (surprisingly and disturbingly enough, the least controversial new addition). What it actually did was a complete mystery to most Americans, and so it shall remain to you, because I’m willing to bet you’re no better than the average American.

Mischa was by nature a very nervous man, having had abusive parents. Whatever creative potential he might have had was thoroughly squelched by the efforts of his father, who was determined that Mischa not amount to anything. After emigrating from Russia, Mischa was almost immediately chosen by Josiah Malum to be his new assistant, a job he was remarkably bad at.

“Mischa, it is imperative that you understand the importance of this assignment,” said Josiah flatly, his face betraying no emotion as he took a drag from his cigarette.

“Y-yes sir, I do understand, sir,” sputtered Mischa nervously.

He was always nervous while in the same room as his boss. Josiah Malum, tall, fit and always well-groomed, gave the impression of possessing a boundless, maniacal energy; yet he always remained perfectly calm. Few men could stand to be in his presence for longer than a few minutes, a fact attributed in part to his eyes, which were, in a word, unpleasant.

“Well good, good,” said Josiah. “You do, of course, realize that the mission I’m about to send you on carries with it an extraordinarily high risk of failure, do you not?”

Mischa nodded, then hastily added, “But I won’t fail you, sir!”

“You’d better not. Because should you fail, there will be consequences. You are aware of the consequences, aren’t you, Mischa?” asked Josiah, a cloud of smoke shrouding his face in darkness.

“Y-yes! Yes s-sir, I’m aware, sir! I-I know what the consequences are, sir!” said Mischa, a bit louder than necessary.

“You remember what happened the last time you failed…don’t you?” continued Josiah.

“YES! I r-remember, sir!” yelled Mischa, his nerves now dangerously on edge.

Josiah put down his cigarette.

“I do not tolerate failure, Mischa. I taught you that the hard way once. I don’t want to do it again. But if you force me…”

“No sir! Not my X-Box!” pleaded Mischa.

“Yes, Mischa! The X-Box! If you fail, no X-Box for a month!”

“I won’t fail you, sir! I’ll succeed! I’ll do it!” proclaimed Mischa.

He stood up abruptly and hurried to the door, which was locked. He looked left, then right, then left again. Finally he looked back at Josiah, who was now comfortably seated directly in Mischa’s line of sight.

“One more thing, Mischa,” added Josiah, a sinister grin spreading across his smoke-obscured face.

“Y-yes sir?” asked Mischa, trembling.

“You have to go out the other door. That one’s broken.”

Josiah pointed to a door located a few feet to Mischa’s left.

“Oh. Thank you, sir.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Wellity wellity wellity (and CHAPTER ONE)

2007-11-11T10:52:00.000-08:00

Welcome readers, old and new, to my new and ultimate blog, the Ultimate Blog. You won't find musings or rants here; for those, head on over to my Rentsy Journal (rated R...for Rentsy! And heavy profanity.)

This blog is, simply put, the place where I am going to post what was at one point my magnum opus, The Ultimate Book. In the words of one of my dearest friends, Will Colton, "it's kind of funny, actually," and if that doesn't make you want to read, I don't know what will.

If you like what you see, comment. If not, comment, but lie, please.

CHAPTER ONE:

I
It was a Tuesday like any other. John Morgan, a postman, was finishing up his daily route. He passed the usual people, delivered the usual letters, received the usual thanks and went on his usual way. John lived a comfortable life and was perfectly content.

“I’m going to kill myself,” he muttered happily.

As it turns out, Tuesday was not John’s favorite day of the week. In fact, it was his least favorite, and he made a point of telling everybody he met just that. John didn’t have many friends. People found him disturbing for some reason.

He was neither tall nor short, neither attractive nor unattractive. He didn’t keep in shape, but he wasn’t out of shape either. His hair was black as night, his eyes brown as pinecones, and his face wore a permanent scowl, as if to emphasize the fact that he considered himself superior to everyone.

“Ah, the last letter. It’s about damn time; this day’s taken forever. Whoops!” said John, accidentally dropping the envelope.

Blaming his mishap on fate, which he asserted was constantly plotting against him, he bent down to pick the letter up but noticed that it was already open. Disgusted, he stopped his truck abruptly, cursing loudly.

“Who could be so stupid as to forget to seal his letter? I swear, everyone on the planet is a complete idiot except me. Well, this person obviously doesn’t care much for security, so I guess it won’t matter if I read the letter,” he said.

John picked up the envelope and, tremulously, took out the letter inside. John received a visceral thrill every time he read someone else’s mail, but the Postman’s Code (a desultory combination of his own twisted ethics and federal law) prevented him from opening a sealed envelope.

He unfolded the single sheet of paper and lifted it to eye level, beginning to read, when all of a sudden –

“JOHN!” someone shouted, making John drop the letter for the second time.

The man who’d yelled was Bill Williams, the town’s blonde-headed garbage man. Bill and John crossed paths twice a week, every Tuesday and Thursday. Every time they did, Bill tried to initiate a conversation, only to be brutally snubbed by John. Last Thursday, Bill had gone home with a broken nose and a slight concussion.

Bill was not an intelligent man. Unlike John, he was humble and obsequious, but that was probably less a sign of maturity than it was of general obliviousness. He was stout in both heart and stature. His bright blue eyes alight with enthusiasm, Bill waved to John.

“Hey John! What’s up? I haven’t seen you since Thursday! Boy, what a day that was, huh? I remember…well, I don’t remember much, actually, since you gave me that concussion, but the doctors say I might make a full recovery! Isn’t that great?” asked Bill.

“Go away, Bill. I’m not in the mood for your shenanigans,” said John bitterly. “I just need to deliver this letter so I can go home.”

Bill, whose supervisor no longer trusted him with a vehicle, had to haul his garbage bags in a wheelbarrow. He set it down and trotted over to John’s truck smiling, clearly having misinterpreted John’s words entirely.

“Deliver a letter, huh? That’s real cool. I wish I had a cool job like that. I even took the mailman test last week! I failed though. Mom took away my X-Box,” lamented Bill.

“Took away your…aren’t you a grown man?” asked John.

Bill just grinned, staring blankly at John. After a very awkward pause, John started the truck up again, driving to the next house. Bill didn’t move.

“Sometimes I wonder why I still do this job,” said John to himself. “I’m clearly overqualified, what with my degree in hyperbotanical engineering. Oh well.”

He dropped the open-but-unread letter into the final mailbox and turned the car around, heading home. He passed Bill, for whom he then inexplicably felt a surge of pity.
“Hey Bill…” he began.

“Yeah John?” responded Bill. “What is it? Do you wanna talk? Wanna come over and play? I got a new water gun. We can have a water fight! Except I can’t get wet, or Mom’ll be mad at me.”

“Err, no, that’s all right,” said John. “I was just wondering if you’d like to have dinner with me sometime. I know a good Mexican place.”

“Mexican?!” exclaimed Bill. “I’m not allowed to eat Mexican food. Mom’s allergic.”

“But why does that have any bearing on what –”

“She swells up like a balloon. I tried to pop her with a pair of scissors once. She didn’t like that. I got grounded. I don’t wanna get grounded again,” stated Bill.

“Well, suit yourself, then,” said John, already driving away.

When he finally reached his house, Bill was standing in his driveway, grinning and waving.

“How the –”

“Hey! John! Ready to go to dinner? I’m ready! I asked Mom, and she said, ‘Bill, anything that gets you out of the house is fine by me. Go, please. Just…just go.’ And so I went! And here I am! Here, at your house. In front of it, anyway. In your driveway, really. So let’s go!”

John gaped at Bill for a moment, then shook his head, “Tuesdays…”