The Lord of the Lords, Book the First

The Lord of the Lords
By Brady Thornton and Ben Rowe

Forward
This story grew over telling. Ironically enough, this tale has never been told and couldn't have grown, which makes that first sentence, needless to say, a useless and meaningless one. There once was a great and all-powerful Lord of the Lords named Lord Pastorius, King of the Throne to Jargovia, an English-like state off the eastern coast of Oceania. All in all, the Lord of the Lords was a man with great power, wanted by many.
Before his death, he bequeathed his royalty to his great-great-great-great-great-great cousin's grandsons, who, at the time, were unalive and were not even known whether or not they would exist. Either the case, being the stupid Lord he was, Pastorius hastefully (he had been given ten minutes to live) and stupidly bequeathed his throne to two unknown inheritants who would supposedly become heirs one day.
This is their story.

Book The First

Prologue

A lone castle sat on the pallid hills of Jargovia, standing guard over the tall green grass. It was large and sturdy, reinforced with mortar imported from the rich valleys of Serpentonia, home of the rabbit. This is not the castle where Pastorius was. He was in the castle to the direct south. There were two hills. The other castle was in ruins. It had been attacked several times as a use for a "practice attack" castle, as its defence was utterly futile and weak; for the only person of worth was the Lord of the Lords: Pastorius. Although Pastorius possessed no real powers, he liked to think that he did. Most thought that he was rather inept and his only use was talking in a fancy royal dialect. This was only fact, however. Opinion's what really counts.
Long story short, Pastorius was a fair and even Lord. He annually submitted his Lord-stock inventory and routinely filled out an armoury-room inspection card?-he was on top of his game. He would inevitably fail, however, because all great historical figures eventually diminish and somewhat seem to be the sympathy of the next Lords who would precede them, only because men who knew they would grow up to be a Lord knew that there would have been only one Lord to look up to. Pastorius' time was running short. He started to feel the effects of a very uncommon thing at the time and age?-ageing. (Many men died in battle so the topic of aging wasn't very well studied upon). Pastorius' dying hands hastefully wrote a quick and effortless will. It was as follows:

I, Lord Jack. O Pastorius, on my day of death, Twenty-First of the month of my death, bequeath all of my possessions to my great-great-great-great-great-great cousin's grandsons, who, if they turn out to be two fit men, shall both rule my land. They shall be named Lester and Larry. My beloved English-like state Jargovia shall be split into two unequal pieces (the bigger going to the richer brother) and shall be ruled by both. In the event that this shall not happen, I sadly wish to have my beloved English-like state destroyed by willpower of the Druids, who, one day, may be freed by the touch of a nincompoop. If willpower shall not be impressive enough to destroy my beloved English-like state, it shall be donated to the Children's wish foundation and used as a giant playground, which must be built of copper. If copper shall not be yet discovered, a copper-like compound will be used at the discretion of the Head Druid. Shall the Druid not be able to confide himself with a worthy condition of a cheap compound to use, my beloved English-like state will be turned into an amusement park. In the event of a lack of amusement-park-building materials, the Head Druid shall?-

And that was Lord Pastorius' will. Pastorius died at the age of twenty-eight.
*
Years later, (twenty to be exact), Pastorius' great-great-great-great-great-great cousin's grandsons were born. They were twins. Fate? No. It turned out to be a medical mix-up, and in fact, the two twins were not Pastorius' great-great-great-great-great-great cousin's grandsons, but rather two completely normally stupid children of the unknown. They randomly appeared in a hospital bed.
After years of growing up amid sarcasm, Larry and Lester proved themselves worthy blacksmiths when they accidentally killed the only blacksmith in town and had to pretend to be the new interns. This proved disastrous when a King from France demanded that they fashion him a worthy sword and threatened to behead them. Larry and Lester had to flee to the next local town, the acclaimed Jargovia. This is where they learned about their royalties.
Larry and Lester were only ten years of age, yet they had already attained royalty status. The two brothers always wanted to be royalty, partly due to snobby genes. Also, it was because at heart they were utterly and truly evil. Pure evil, in fact. The whole "good boy" act was just a cover; a phase.
The day Larry and Lester became Count & Duke was a very forgettable day. Absolutely nothing of significance happened whatsoever; the crown-bearer, Archimedes, had forgotten the crowns (he was busy bathing) and was beheaded by whoever it was that was in charge. No celebration took place. At last, Lester and Larry were drunk with power, each ruling around one-half of the English-like state Jargovia.

Part the First
I

Fifteen Years Later…

Throughout history, there were a number of famous evil people, 'baddies' if you will. First, there was Lord Morgoth, the God of all Evil. Then there was Morgoth's servant, Lord Sauron, the ruler of middle-earth until a little hobbit and his little friends defeated him. Yes, we all know the basic foundations of evil. But a long long time after Lord Sauron's time, there lived a very unpredictable Lord. A Lord with much power, much wealth, and enough evil henchmen to control a small island, which was what he first did do declare his "evilitisms". This evil man's name was none other than the Evil Lord Fing, ruler of Quarter-Earth. He lived and thrived mostly underground, and mainly came up for nuts in the winter, but other than that, was pure evil. His secret underground lair was right below a foul-mouthed crazy wizard's shanty. The wizard is insignificant to this tale, however.
Evil Lord Fing was a man of great mysticism. He was known throughout the free world as the bringer of the apocalypse. This is all poppycock, however, in contrast to the events that were unfolding. Fing was getting tired of the nutshell he had been in his whole life. His throne room consisted of a big grey chamber with evil henchmen arbitrarily doing whatever it was that would make them seem busy; most of the time it was simply turning a big black knob. Fing would sit at the back of the room in his big grey throne, wearing his decorative ring of evilitisms, grinning and not saying a word. This, of course, was the typical day in the life of Fing.
The evil planning took place at around four o'clock, when his henchmen took a break from arbitrarily turning knobs and brought him his English-style tea.
Fing would stand up, measuring at about three and a half feet tall, and get his walker from the side of the wall; for he was a weak man at twenty-three. His grey beard obviously gave away that he was some sort of sinister character; for it was trimmed in a devilish-like way, almost so evil that on sight of it, one would freeze if there were any shred goodness in their heart. And then, in his high-pitched, bat-like voice, Fing would screech, "Please lower the tray, Alfred. You have done well," and accept the tea.
Typically, Fing would get really mad at Alfred for some random reason. Maybe the tea would be hot. Or too cold. Or not tea-y enough. Or too tea-y enough. It was as if Fing was feeling sad about himself so he made fun of others?-the root of all evil. I mean seriously, what kind of old man bitches about damn tea? Alfred would take all of Fing's bitching, and then put the tray down, and continue arbitrarily doing whatever if was he was doing before the old clock in the corner of the barren room announced that it was four o'clock?-tea time.
After his tea, Fing would walk ever so slowly to the other side of the room and sit down at the table, which had been lowered to match his figure. He would grab a pencil from the pencil dish, which was painted red because it would have looked happy had it not been because Fing wanted an evil look when he was decorating the place. Then, with his long, bony arm, which looked as if God had just put the arm bone in place and used some sort of tack-welding method to keep it in place (although it didn't work), he would draw out some sort of battle scene, which usually had nothing to do with what he was planning. Some days he did this to make it look as if he were actually doing something, because most days he was not.
Some evil-planning sessions were better than others. One day he thought of something so incredibly evil that it was pleasant. The point is, some days were really uneven. One particular day when he was planning, however, he stumbled upon a fact in the history book that was coincidentally open on the table for no apparent reason:

"Along with great power, comes great responsibility"
?-Ben Parker.

"Oops, wrong quote," said Fing. He looked more down on the page.

Druids a victim of unexpected mage powers
"…The druid colony faced a big disappointment when a mage came out of nowhere and started making fun of them. The druids had no choice but to cry and pout and carry on. The mage finally closed by putting a spell on them: they are now apparently weak to the force of evil. That's right, evil. Who the hell curses someone and makes them weak to evil? I mean, seriously! You have to be some sort of shallow-minded twit to come up with that sort of a dense retort…."

Fing got an idea. Suddenly the phone rang. "Hello?" said Fing. "Hello? ?-Hello? ?-Who is this? ?-Hello?" Fing hung up. "Ah," he said. "I forgot, nobody else has a phone. It must've rung out of pure randomness," he concluded. "I want to kill someone," he added; for he had the habit of saying things pleasant, but then corrected himself by saying something evil.
"What do you mean, O Mighty Fing?" asked one of his henchmen.
"Do not refer to me as mighty; for the only mighty person in this room is I. Off with his head," commanded Fing. A giant oversized laser beam came from out of nowhere and killed the henchmen. One of the things about Fing was that he was dreadfully and mind-numbingly dense. "I say we kidnap the Druids and hold them hostage for no apparent reason and see how we can go from there. What do you think, Alfred? Alfred? Alfred? Alfred? ALFRED? WHERE THE HELL IS ALFRED, ALFRED?"
"Uhh?-" said a henchman.
"Uh what, you bowel!" screamed Fing.
"Uhh?-it's just that you just had Alfred's head chopped off, sir," claimed the nervous henchmen.
"How long have you been with me, grasshopper?" asked Fing.
"Uhhh?-I got transferred here from your other location, and that was about six months ago?-"
"Are you making fun of my corporation?"
"No, sir, I was merely answering the question that you?-"
"Off with his head," said Fing. Yet again, a giant oversized laser beam came from out of nowhere and killed the second henchmen. "Can someone clean this mess up?" asked Fing.
"Uh?-you just killed the janitor," said an old and trustworthy henchman.
"Oh, well hire a new one, eh? This place is starting to smell." Fing continued his planning. He really was quite evil.

II
It was springtime in Jargovia. It was early in the morning. Duke Lester the Nth of Larryington and Count Larry of Lestershire were sitting in their bunk beds; this was rather ridiculous and immature as they were twenty-five years old and still didn't even have any females in their lives.
Larry, the first person to wake up, awoke with a start. He had had a dream, and had woken up with a cold sweat. It was a bad dream. Larry decided he'd get out of bed and start getting ready for the day. It was Royalty Day in Jargovia; it was this day Lord Pastorius had died (and had also written the effortless will). During Royalty Day, usually there would be some sort of play re-enacting the events of Pastorius' life, which pretty much consisted of an array of wenches doing things to a happy actor. (Seriously.) There were, of course, funny times, and there were, of course sad times, but the saddest part and happiest part were both at the end, and at the same time: the death.
Larry was wearing his lion pyjamas, which made no sense, because he didn't own any lion pyjamas. "Oh damn, I'm naked," thought Larry as he struggled to find some sort of convenient robe. Larry was the kind of man you'd be able to spot as the kind of person you'd rather hire in a circus over a bearded lady. He wasn't ugly per say, but anyone who stared at him started to get an uneasy feeling?-almost that of throwing up. It seemed that Larry could never please any maiden with his looks. It worked out for the better, however, because Larry himself didn't actually want a maiden. He preferred the single life, which pretty much consisted of getting drunk every night. It also helped that he was all-powerful and could pretty much get out of any tight situation he might be in?-such as scandal. Yes, Larry had had his fair share of scandals.
He ruffled his hair. It was really quite long and shaggy. Particles of dandruff loosely feathered through the air as he did so, landing on the duvet that he had moved around in his sleep the night before. Larry burped. He wasn't a fat man, nor was he slim; but man, he knew how to stuff a few meals down his throat. Larry walked over to the corner of the room and got a bucket of fresh water. You'd think he had gotten it to drink, but instead he walked over to where the beautiful Lester was sleeping and dumped it all over him.
"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?" screamed Lester, his voice full of rage. You could obviously tell that Lester had intended on getting at the least a few more hours of sleep. Lester still remained composed, and stood up in his bed, his head dripping with the now filthy water (the last time Lester had showered was the day after Larry had showered?-which was never).
Lester stood up. "Good morning, ye brethren; hath ye woken thy up for thy day?" Or hath ye vainly woken thy up for mere pleasure?" asked Lester, who was obviously more educated than his slack-off brother.
"Say what now?"
"Never mind. I have a special day planned for you."
"And that would be what? Another day of drinking?"
"No, but that would be a good suggestion. We're going to go to the local school and help the schoolchildren learn, just like we did when we were young."
Suddenly, Larry remembered all too well that day when he had first learned the art of talking back.
***
The school bell rang. Larry, now twelve years old, entered the doors of the stone school, which sat about five kilometres south of the ruined castle. Today was Monday, the anti-epitome of school days?-why couldn't all school days be Fridays?
"Hello class; today we're going to learn about a branch of mathematics known as addition. Can anyone tell me what they think addition is? How about Larry." Said the teacher, Ms. Longbottom (Yes, the teacher was teased; the schoolchildren would have to have been fools not to have taken advantage of such a beautiful name...and yes, that was sarcastic). Larry wasn't currently in the classroom. The door burst open.
"Larry. Late again, I see. Fill out the tardy slip in the corner of the room."
"?-But I w-w-wasn't t-tardy Mrs. L-Longbottom," said Larry, his voice still shivering from the cold.
"Sure you weren't. What's you're excuse this time?"
A spark of sarcasm lit in Larry's head. "Well, you see, I was late because the bell rang before I got here," said Larry.
"You used that stupid excuse yesterday, Larry; now please sit down."
"But we didn't come to school yesterday, so I couldn't have used that excuse."
"Well then you used it the day before that."
"But the day before that was a Saturday, Ms. Longbottom. I couldn't have said it then, either."
"Fine then, you used it the day before that one," replied Ms. Longbottom sternly.
"?-Interviews"
"WHAT DOES IT TAKE FOR A LITTLE SCHOOLBOY LIKE YOURSELF TO SIT DOWN IN YOUR DAMN DESK WITHOUT HAVING TO ARGUE WITH YOUR TEACHER ABOUT EVERY LITTLE THING, HUH? WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME I ARGUED WITH YOU ABOUT HOW MUCH PASTE YOU HAVE, OR HOW MUCH PAPER YOU HAVE, HUH? DO YOU THINK IT'S COOL TO ARGUE WITH A HIGHER AUTHORITY, YOU LITTLE BRAT? HMM? I'LL TELL YOU WHAT. YOU SIT YOUR LITTLE ASS DOWN IN THE DAMN DESK AND I'LL FORGET ABOUT THIS LITTLE INCIDENT. SHUT UP, DON'T SAY ANYTHING, AND JUST DO WHATEVER I TELL YOU!" screamed Ms. Longbottom.
That was the last day Ms. Longbottom taught a class.
***
Larry sighed. Those were the days. That year, Larry got four teachers fired before the principal realised that it was Larry all along.
"Get ready, Larry, we have to leave soon," hushed Lester.
"It doesn't matter anyways, we'll probably end up not going in the prospect of the way you and I function."
"Oh, you and I were a team years ago, but we're separate men now. Get your clothes on, and let's go. NOW."
Larry and Lester finally left the castle. (A new one had been built). As they were leaving through the front door, they noticed a poster that had been posted on the wall.
DRUID COLONY MERCILESSLY KIDNAPPED BY FING
~REWARD OFFERED TO THE BRAVE MEN WHO RESCUE
THE KIDNAPPED DRUIDS (ABOUT 50, TOTAL). ASK FOR
DIRECTIONS ON WHERE TO FIND EVIL LORD FING'S LAIR
WE ARE TOO NERVOUS TO GO AND RESCUE THEM OURSELVES~
-REWARD IS 10,000,000 UNITS OF CURRENCY*-
SEE REDRICK, COUSEL BUILDING #1138, BLOCK 7

*SEE CURRENCY NAMING CONTEST, TWO ADS TO THE LEFT

"Whoa! Imagine what we could do with ten million units of currency!" exclaimed Larry.
"You twit! We already have ten million units of currency! What would we need another ten million for?"
"Amusement."
"Okay, you got me there, let's go apply."
***
Fing had everyone where he wanted. He still hadn't any idea what to do with the druids, but he knew that it would be something evil. Perhaps killing them would suffice.
"How exactly did you kidnap them, sir?" asked one of the henchmen.
Fing, making a grin with his wrinkled twenty-three year old face, smiled, showing his gravestone-stump teeth. Was is possible for someone to be so evil and so ugly at the same time? Obviously, yes. "Well, I got the idea when I read that a mage had given them a weakness to evil, and I thought to myself 'Who's more evil than the Evil Lord Fing, Ruler of Quarter-Earth, bringer of the apocalypse?' The answer is nobody. I found out where the druids dwell and simply did my evil thing. Within minutes, I had them in a stereotypical brown sack with a loose white string tied around it. It was that easy. There was one fellow, however, who fought me, so, being the evil bastard I am, I beheaded him with my new transportable invisible oversized laser beam that comes out of nowhere yet seems to kill unsuspecting people obliviously to oblivion. Fun!" explained Fing. He had never opened up this much before to someone. "What are you looking at, huh? Off with his head!" the usual thing happened. Beheading was a quirk of Fing. It was rather a cliché.
Lord Fing had no idea what to do now. He had about fifty druids sitting in stereotypical black sacks in the back of his chambers, which he could kill off at any moment, yet he felt strangely incomplete. Could this mean he was turning good? The answer is no. Fing was just depressed. "Tea, please," said Fing.
"But it's not four o'clock, sir," said one of the apparently abundant henchmen.
"Do you have any clue as to who I am?" said Fing.
"Of course I do, O mighty."
"I already told you?-do not call me mighty; for the only person mighty in this room is I! Off with her?-what? You're a girl? But you're a henchmen, not a henchwomen. No…I have to stick to my principles. Off with her head," said Fing, heartlessly. The tea came.
Fing hobbled over to the planning table and started drawing. No plans had came to mind. For once, Fing was stumped. He had lots of druids kidnapped, but yet he wasn't happy. What gave?

III
Larry and Lester walked down to the counsel building, which was across the street. After walking inside, they met a fellow with a grim look on his/her face. "What is your inquiry?" asked the fellow.
"We have to come to rescue the druids, and claim our ten million units of currency," replied Lester, in an inquisitive tone.
"Damn, I was hoping someone had come for the currency naming contest. Crap. Alright, come with me; I'll take you to where we keep our adventurer gear," said the person, waving them into a room. "You'll have to sign some sort of sheet to represent your devotion to rescuing the druids. Then, I'll give you a map, and you can be on your way. Do not talk to strangers and do not get into anybody's way. Do you understand?"
"Yes, most certainly. Let us go now please."
"Fine…but remember: do not talk to strangers."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, c'mon Larry, let's go," said Lester, on his way out of the door. The expedition had begun.
***
Following a map drawn by a ham-fisted druid was one thing, but actually knowing where you were going is another. Lester and Larry set out into the fields of Jargovia's eastern side, but later realised they had been reading the map upside-down and turned to go west. The journey continued all day, hiking in the fields, which led to woods. They appeared to be in a large forest, which made no sense, because Jargovia was pure field.
"Where are we?" asked Lester.
"I don't know. Did you check the map?"
"Yes. It says that where we are standing should be some sort of portal to Quarter Earth. Interesting. That must mean that we're in Quarter Earth."
"Nonsense! Let me see that," shouted Larry.
Frantically spinning the map around randomly made Larry feel very important and argumentative. Not only was he foolishly attempting to prove his handsome and smart brother wrong, but he had no idea what the hell he was doing.
"Ah, well," said Larry. "I guess you're right this time."
"Damn straight, moron. 'Twas about time."
"Argh."
Suddenly from out of the woods came a stomping noise. "What was that?" asked Lester.
"How should I know, bitch?"
"Don't talk to me that way!"
"Why are we arguing? Maybe the outcome of the situation depends on the fact of whether or not we stop bickering; if we continue to converse in a futile way, then maybe it might be possible for the thing that we are hearing to know that we are obviously manifested within its proximity, and if it's evil, then maybe it might want to disembowel us."
"So in other words, we should shut up and listen?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because I just explained it. Weren't you just listening? I pity you."
"You are the one that pities me? Pah! I'm the good one."
"The good one? How could you be the good one?"
"Well, you see, I rule the bigger half of Jargovia, and that therefore makes me the?-" a giant spider appeared from out of the woods.
"You see what I mean? It heard us, bitch," said Larry.
"Don't call me that!"
"I wasn't."
"YES YOU WERE"
"Umm?-excuse me," said the spider. "Would it be possible for you two mud brains to stop arguing so I can kill you? It's kinda my thing."
"Oh look! A talking spider! You expect me to listen to a talking spider? I didn't know anthropomorphism existed. Tell you what. Go to hell, Mr. Spider, and we'll be on our way," said Larry sarcastically.
"Nobody's ever stood up to me like that before," replied the spider.
"Yeah, well get used to it, you big cretin," said Larry. Maybe Larry had gone too far.
"You are making me angry. You wouldn't like me when I'm angry. Say goodbye."
"Make me."
The spider took a big huff and a puff. It then started to look redder. "Pass me that stick, Lester," said Larry. Lester obeyed. Larry poked the spider in one of its eyes.
"OW!" screamed the spider. "That hurt!"
"What were you expecting, hmm? A pleasant feeling of completeness?"
"No, but you didn't have to hurt me."
"Yeah, well, buzz off; nobody wants you here," said Larry, who took a swing at the spider.
"OWW! DAMN YOU" screamed the spider, as it fell over. Lester and Larry started to repeatedly stomp of the spider's legs and head until it was flat.
"You say goodbye, bitch," said Larry, and walked away.
"Wow, that was fun. We should do that again some time," said Lester.
"Let's continue our journey…I can't read this stupid map! How are we going to get to Lord Fing's lair and how are we going to defeat him?" asked Larry.
A random person walked into the pathway. They were wearing some sort of foreboding outfit that was mysteriously coloured black.
"Excuse me, Mr. Person, do you know that way to Evil Lord Fing's castle?" asked Larry.
"Yes. I am a sage. I know everything and every answer to any random question. I know everybody's secrets," claimed the sage.
"If you know the answer to everything, then why are me and Larry here?"
"Because when I was designing the future, I was too damn lazy to give you two a set path. Anything you say or do is a complete act of randomness. You are a rift in the space-time continuum."
"Interesting, but how do we find Evil Lord Fing?"
"I know the answer to that one," said the sage.
"And that answer is?" asked Larry.
"I also know how to defeat Evil Lord Fing, too," said the sage.
"Okay, just tell me the bloody answer!" screamed Larry.
"The answer to where Evil Lord Fing is situated and how to defeat him is?-" suddenly the sage had an aneurysm and died.
"What kind of a man dies on you?" asked Lester.
"I'm not sure, but let's steal his watch and units of currency," said Larry.
***
Meanwhile, back in Jargovia….
"Yes, what are you here for?"
"I'd like to suggest a name for the unit of currency."
"Okay?-tell us what you think it should be called."
"Money."
"That's terrific! You win!"
"Yay!"
***
"What should we do now? We are in the middle of Middle-Eastern-Quarter-Earth and we have no idea where to go. Let's go for a drink in that pub over there that just randomly appeared into the corner of my eye's vision."
"Okay."
Lester and Larry walked over to where the pub was. They entered.
Loud music was playing, and there was a big puff of smoke above where the bartender was standing. In the corner of the room, passed out, was a drunken fat man wearing a vest that was too small and showed his underwear, which was ripped.
"I'd like a beer please. A Budweiser will do," said Larry.
"What's a Budweiser?" asked the bartender.
"Oh, right, it hasn't been invented yet. I'll just have a random generic brand of whatever ale you have on tap."
"What's a tap?" asked the bartender.
"Oh, damn, right, they haven't invented automated pressure systems yet."
"What the hell is an automated pressure system?" asked the bartender.
"Well, it's this thing that you use to get ale from the back?-it uses tubing and the basic laws of pressure to easily transport the ale from the back to the tap and?-"
"Okay, let's get you drunk so that you don't talk," said the bartender. "What would your friend like?"
"He'd like a random generic brand of ale as well."
"Okay…give me a second," said the bartender.
Larry heard a noise from the corner of the room. The drunken fat man wearing the undersized vest had woken up. Larry didn't think much of it. "So, Lester, how do you figure we find our way to Fing's?"
"That's just the beginning, though. We need to defeat him and rescue the druids as well. If only we had a third companion?-"
"I couldn't help but overhear your conversation. Dwayne Dwayneson at your service. I used to work for Fing until he fired me. I'm surprised he didn't behead me. I know the way to Fing's castle and I'm a worthy companion to have," said the drunken fat man.
"Fair enough," said Lester. "Come with us."
***
The woods were dark and lonesome, aside from the fact that it was day out and the three companions were not separated. This was truly a very long journey for the two royal figures?-their entire life consisted of spending money, and not actually doing any quests. You see, Lester and Larry were the kind of chums you'd expect to not know what a Wal-Mart was, although at the time, nobody knew what a Wal-Mart was, mainly because it hadn't been franchised yet. Dwayne was turning out to be quite a good companion, and he seemed to know what he was talking about.
"…So then Lord Fing told me that I wasn't qualified for the position of comic relief because I'm too damn serious, and also because I'm a drunken fat man who wears nothing but an undersized vest all the time," told Dwayne.
"How far are we away from Fing's lair anyways?" asked Larry as they were walking through the forest.
"Quite a way's away. We're only about ten percent there," told Dwayne. There was a rustling in the bushes. An old man came out.
"Hey, ho, I'm Tom Bombadill-o," sang the man gaily. "You gotta help me. They're looking for me," pleased Tom. "They're coming quickly, and if I can't find some sort of haven, then I'm afraid I won't be able to live?-" Tom was shot in the back with an arrow. "Damn you, Sgh! Damn you!" screamed Tom.
"Who's Sgh?" asked Dwayne.
"Sgh is my killer. You can find him at the Pony Tail Tavern & Motel, but be warned: he isn't a fair man. Avenge my death and you shall be rewarded?-" Tom passed away.
"Should we go find the Pony Tail Tavern?" asked Larry.
"Yes, it's not that far away. It's on the way to Fing's lair anyways. It won't be much of an inconvenience."
"Okay."

IV
Dwayne, Larry, and Lester continued walking. They came to a river. A toll man was standing there. "Welcome to the River of the Damned," said the toll man. "In order to pass, you must provide three magic rocks."
"Three magic rocks?"
"Yes, three magic rocks."
"No?-I wasn't verifying that I had to bring you three magic rocks, I was asking about the three magic rocks themselves. What do these magic rocks posess?" asked Larry.
"The first magic rock represents Willpower; for to pass this river wisely and humbly, the travelers must have Willpower. The second rock represents Strength. The mighty challenges that face you will require strength. Lastly, the third rock represents Miscellaneous Things. I was too lazy to think of other things to include as magical metaphorical rocks, so I made a miscellaneous category."
"So these rocks can just be any rocks?"
"No. The rock of Willpower must have ten congruent faces, have a hardness measure of 5, and be a light teal color. The rock of Strength must have eleven congruent faces and be colored light green, and you must be able to extract water from this rock. The third and final rock of Miscellaneous Things must have one face and must be able to be used as a back support for yours truly."
"I think you're just a random traveler who is bored and has to need to occupy themselves by making adventurers likes ourselves go and gather what you consider magical rocks," said Lester. Dwayne sat and stared, as usual.
"I think you're wrong," said the toll man, who was starting to think that they were catching onto his secret.
Larry, Dwayne, and Lester each picked up a rock. "Here are your rocks!" they said in unison. The rocks flew at the toll man's head, knocking him unconscious. They crossed the river.
Through the forest they continued walking. After about twenty minutes of walking and talking, they found themselves in the middle of some sort of tree house village. The inhabitants seemed to be some sort of teddy bear species.
"Hello. Welcome to Plusith Tirith. I am Bellrond, but my friends call my Jelly Belly. What is your business with our humble creatures?"
Larry seemed to be getting a bad vibe from this teddy. He could only assume that people were against him. He got the impression when he noticed many teddies had lines up behind Bellrond and started to form a battle position. "Our business is Fing. We are in search of Evil Lord Fing's underground lair to rescue the druids from his grasp." All the teddies laughed.
"What kinda' sunnava bitch mo' fugga's papa is gonna believe that kinda story?" howled one of the teddies, who was roaring with incapacitating laughter.
"It's not supposed to be funny, you know," said Dwayne.
A teddy came at him with a knife, but, because the teddy was one-eighth Dwayne's size, Dwayne squished it with his foot. The teddies were mad. Thousands of teddies came out from what appeared to be out of nowhere and started gaining of the three companions, who were taking them down almost as quickly as they were coming. Teddy guts were everywhere. Cotton was littered all over the forest's floor. Larry didn't know that he ever knew how to defend himself.
A teddy came at Lester, but he quickly stabbed it in mid air with its own spear and then flung it the distance of a wagon-and-a-half. Larry picked one up and held it by its legs, banging its head repeatedly against a tree. Dwayne kept stepping on them. Dwayne saw a crossbow leaning on a tree a few hundred yards away. Sprinting over to it while stepping on some teddies, Dwayne loaded it and shot it. It appeared Dwayne was trigger-happy.
After the last teddy was killed and/or slain, Lester, Larry, and Dwayne wiped their hands in an 'I've-done-it,-Mommy!' sort of way. They didn't realise that the game had only begun.
About two hundred feet out of their field over view, three teddy bears were having a picnic. The first teddy bear was the wise bear, which was too fat, the second was the intelligent bear, who was too slim, and the third bear was the synonym-bearing bear, which was too antonymous to be able to be considered an intellectual. Drinking their cups of tea, and doing some weed, they were stewing over how to outwit the obviously three witty men.
"I say we challenge them to a wit contest," said the first teddy bear, Willy.
"I say we challenge them to an outsmarting contest," said the second bear, Walter.
"I say we talk about this after I'm finished going to the bathroom," said the third teddy bear, Bob, as he got up and went over to a tree. Ten minutes passed. "Okay, I say we challenge them to a?-crap, my IBS is coming back. Gimme a sec, fellas," Bob said again, as he got up and went over to a tree.
"I hate Bob and his IBS. Let's kill him," said Willy.
"Okay," said Walter. Willy gave Walter a gun and then Walter shot Bob.
"He wasn't that great anyways," said Walter.
"Quite," said Willy.
The three companions heard the gunshot. They rushed over to see what was going on.
"Hello, you three," said Willy to Larry.
"Hello," said Larry to Willy.
"Nice to meet you," said Walter to Larry.
"Nice to meet you too," said Larry to Walter.
"What's you're name?" said Willy to Larry.
"Larry," said Larry to Willy.
"Larry, this is Walter," said Willy to Larry, pointing to Walter.
"Nice to meet you, Walter," said Larry to Walter.
"I am Willy," said Willy to Larry.
"Ah, the pleasure is mine," said Larry to Willy.
"Who else is with you, Larry?" said Willy and Walter to Larry.
"Well, my brother Lester is here with us," said Larry to Willy and Walter, pointing to Lester.
"Ah, hello, Lester," said Willy to Lester.
"Yes, nice to meet you," said Walter to Lester.
"Lester, this is Willy and Walter," said Larry to Lester, pointing at Willy and Walter.
"Ah, hello Willy," said Lester to Walter.
"No, I'm Walter. He's Willy," said Walter to Lester, pointing at Willy.
"I'm sorry," said Lester to Walter.
"Say sorry to Willy, Lester," said Walter to Lester, pointing to Willy.
"I'm sorry, Willy, for confusing you with Walter," said Lester to Willy.
"That's Okay, Lester," said Willy to Lester.
"Who else is with you?" asked Willy and Walter.
"We also have Dwayne," said Larry and Lester to Willy and Walter, pointing at Dwayne.
"Dwayne Dwayneson?" said Willy to Larry.
"I'm not sure. Is your last name Dwayneson, Dwayne?" said Larry to Dwayne.
"Yes, it is," said Dwayne to Larry.
"I know who you are," said Walter to Dwayne.
"Yes, and we know who you are," said Larry, Lester, and Dwayne to Willy and Walter.
"That works for the better," said Willy to no direct person.
"I'm sure it does," said Larry to Lester, but then corrected himself by saying it to Willy.
"What is your business?" asked Willy.
"We are just adventurers, randomly walking through the forests to see what we find," said Larry, who wanted to hide his real quest.
"What a life," said Willy, sarcastically.
"We enjoy it," said Lester.
"I'm sure you do," said Walter.
"Okay then," said Larry.
"Then we're okay," said Willy.
"Be that way," said Larry.
"Okay then," said Walter.
"Then we agree," said Larry.
"Yes, we agree," said Willy.
"Fine," said Larry.
"We challenge you to a wit contest," said Willy.
"What happens if we lose?" asked Larry to Willy.
"We kill you," said Willy.
"With what?"
"Our killing machine."
"You have a killing machine?"
"Yes."
"Okay."
"Okay to what?"
"Your killing machine!"
"What about my killing machine?"
"I just said! Okay!"
"Okay to what, though?"
"YOUR KILLING MACHINE!"
"What about my killing machine?"
"?-Wait?-?-I get the point of this."
"Point of what?"
"The wit contest."
"What about the wit contest?"
"Well, how do you figure out who wins?"
A stream of logic suddenly overcame Willy. Willy and Walter vanished in a puff of logic.
"We won!" exclaimed Larry.
"So?" said Lester.
"Whatever. Let's keep walking."
***
Through the forest the three continued to walk. Their destination, The Pony Tail Tavern & Motel had not yet been reached, but was getting close. That was where the three would sleep for the night. Their first day of journey was at about three-quarters through.
"Those teddy bear things were annoying. I hope they weren't dreadfully important to the plot," said Larry.
"What?" asked Lester.
"Nothing," said Larry.
Dwayne kept to himself the rest of the day, except for when he didn't, in which case he didn't keep to himself. Dwayne was the kind of person that would never speak their mind whether or not they were sober.
A tavern came into view. It was large and tavern-like, ironically enough. They entered. "We'd like to rent a room," said Larry.
"That'll be two units of currency," said the man who was at the counter.
"It's actually called money now. They changed the name of it."
"Really?"
"Yes."
"Well that's interesting, because I was going to name it money."
"Were you really?"
"Yes."
"And why didn't you?"
"Because the castle is too far away."
"Well distances aren't supposed to hinder you from doing things, you know."
"Really?"
"Yes."
"But I've lived my whole life living with the principle that any man who is separated from the things he wants to do by distances, he shouldn't bother doing it."
"Well, sorry to say, but that's wrong."
"Very well, then. What's your name?"
"It's Larry."
"You don't say! My name is Larry!"
"Really?"
"Yes!"
"Well, what's your profession?"
"I'm a count. Count Larry of Lestershire is what they call me."
"Really?"
"Yes!"
"Well I'm a Count Larry of Lestershire too!"
"Really?"
"Yes!"
"Well shouldn't that mean that this tavern is an alternate universe?" suggested Lester.
"Well, in theory, yes it should," said Larry.
"Well, then doesn't that mean that we just discovered a loophole in the system?"
"What system?"
"I'm not sure…The system that makes us the way we are," said Lester.
"How do we make it so that we are no longer a victim of a complete act of random alternate universes?"
"Kill Count Larry."
"Which one?" asked Dwayne.
"Obviously the one at the counter."
"Okay. Hand me that?-wait a minute! If the two alternate universes are intermingled together, doesn't that mean that there are doubles of every one of us? Or, maybe have you ever thought that we are the doubles and the selves of us that we see are the real ones?" said Larry.
"I never thought of that. It's actually quite philosophical."
"Quite."
"Okay, well let's just kill this Larry and see if anything happens."
"Okay"
Larry picked up a pole and beat the other Larry to death with it. It was quite satisfying
"Did anything happen?" asked Lester.
"I don't think so," said Larry.
***
Meanwhile, off the coast of Belgium
A giant hole appeared in the middle of a street.
***
Because the room-booker was dead, the three companions went off to find a room by themselves, in hope that tomorrow they would find Sgh and avenge Tom Bombadill's death. They were having troubles deciding who got the bed.
"Who will get the bed?"
"I don't know!"
"Who said that?"
"I don't know; it will probably remain ambiguous for the rest of the book," said a voice.
"What?"
"Nothing."
***
The sun rose bright and early. A little too early, in fact. This was because the henchman in control of raising the sun in Quarter-Earth had accidentally hit the switch a little too early. He quickly corrected himself. Larry, Lester, and Dwayne all awoke at the same time. They went down to the lobby.
"Excuse me, do you know where I can find Sgh?" asked Larry to a very tall man.
"I'm Sgh."
"…And that you are…well…nice meeting you," said Larry, and turned around. "Why couldn't you stand up to him?" thought Larry. "You are a handyman. Go beat him with a bat! You'd kill him in no time! Hey…I want some alcohol."
"Quiet, you," said Larry aloud. Larry walked back over to where Lester and Dwayne were standing.
"What's the matter, Larry?" asked Dwayne.
"He's too strong for me to handle," said Larry.
"Nonsense! I'll kill him for you, for I am a drunken fat man whose anger knows no satiety," exclaimed Dwayne.
It was really funny watching a drunken fat man attempt to beat up a seasoned assassin, but for some reason, Dwayne succeeded. Because they fought behind a giant random drape, nobody saw how Dwayne actually killed Sgh.
"How did you do it?" asked Lester, in awe.
"I didn't do anything. He just had a heart attack," said Dwayne.
"Ah," said Lester.
"I found this in his jacket," said Dwayne, holding up a small card.

HELLO! I AM A MINION OF FAUG,
KEEPER OF THE SIX AND ONE MINIONS
OF EVILITISMS

HOW'S MY EVILNESS?
1-88-COMPLAIN
EXT. EVIL
(3845)
ASK FOR OPERATOR STAN

"This must mean that we are to go find Faug if we are to avenge Tom Bombadill's death," said Larry.
"Who is Faug?" asked Lester.
"Faug is the reputed crook in Quarter-Earth; he is said to be the centreof all evil, except for his master, Lord Fing, of course. He also is an endorser for Reebok," said Dwayne.
"What?"
"Nothing," hushed Dwayne.
"Do you know the way to Faug's lair?" asked Larry.
"No, but there is a rather nice map on the back of this card. It looks like the lair is located in the Mountains of Fog, northeast of the Foggy River, south of East Fogton," said Dwayne.
"Ah," said Lester.
"These are evil times."
"Yes, they are. Yes, they are," said Dwayne.

V
The three companions had a nice distraction. The only reason they were actually avenging the death of Tom was because Fogton was the only way travelers were able to get to Fing's lair.
"So, what's so good about this Faug guy, anyways?"
"I'm not that sure. I don't think he could be that strong. He seems to be quite the crook, though. Last year, he stole ten million units of money worth of various Druish weaponry, not to mention the supposed lost treasure of the Modern Ancient Druish world. It is supposedly a magic item of jewellery. This year, he hopes to steal the Holy Grail, Excalibur, and amazingly enough, Jimmy Hoffa's body. I can't believe this guy!" exclaimed Dwayne. It was as if Dwayne was falling in love with Faug.
"Wow," said Lester. "Even for an experienced crook like me, I consider that a pretty hard task."
"You aren't a crook at all," said Larry.
"?-That you know of," said Lester, with a twitchy eye.
They continued walking without any largely important threats, aside from the large flesh eating rodents that appeared from time to time, but Dwayne usually got really happy and ate one of them. Yes, times were definitely good.
A storm was coming. The sky foreboded evil in a sinister way. Even more, the three companions were walking on an elevated cliff. "Let's turn back," said Lester. "The days are growing darker."
"Are you kidding? We haven't done anything of worth yet. If we return Druidless and without any heroism we'll be only just as good as any other royalty. I say we keep going and not give up," spoke Larry.
"Well, it seems you have your priorities straight, but I don't so I'll be on my waaa?-" Lester fell off the cliff and landed with a dull thud.
"Are you okay, Lester?" shouted Dwayne.
"I'm perfectly okay," said Lester, standing up perfectly and dusting his cloak off."I just feel a strange tingling in my back. If it's serious, I'll be able to get to Jargovia in time to save myself, don't you worry. Goodbye, and god speed! I'll be back in Jargovia if you need me, brother!" screamed Lester. "Brother? Where did you go?" It was too late. Larry had already moved on.
***
"How much longer did you say it was going to be before we land in Fogton?" asked Larry.
"Right…about…now," said Dwayne. A big sign floated into view. It clearly read Welcome to Fogton, Home of Faug, the Evildoer of Quarter-Earth. This was clearly an evil setting for two good-hearted adventurers to be.
"We should go find Faug and kill him immediately," said Larry.
"Ah," said Lester, who wasn't there.
"What?"
Nobody replied.
Dwayne walked over to Larry. "We've been out all day, sir, we should go find a place to sleep so we can get Faug early next morning. We might need the rest."
"That's a great idea, Dwayne, but let's just go find Faug right away."
"Fine."
Through Fogton they walked, according to the map, and into the Mountains of Fog. They were at a very high elevation. "So do you think that it will be hard for us to kill Faug?" asked Larry.
"I'm not sure. It might've helped if we'd had a good night's sleep first," said Dwayne, as they continued to climb. "Ah, well."
They reached an opening in the mountain. "This must be his lair," said Larry.
"Duh, jackass," said Dwayne sarcastically.
"Ugh. Let's just enter, okay?" asked Larry.
"Fine."
They entered. The lair was a lot bigger than they had expected it to be. Bones were scattered every which way they could have been. There was a long hallway that extended into a giant chamber, which was out of view. Continue walking they did.
A voice sounded. "Who enters without an appointment? I challenge you to leave my premises. If not, I will bribe you with these decorative but delicious mints, fashioned by my most important sweatshop workers," said a large, scaly Faug.
Larry and Dwayne continued walking. Larry made a stereotypical cartoon gulping sound. "No. We have come to avenge the death of Tom Bombadill, and to do that, we must kill you," said Dwayne.
"You seem like the worthy fat type for a thing like me," said Faug.
" Nobody says that kind of thing about Dwayne without calling him a drunk first," said Dwayne, defensively.
"The ambiguity of your species is intriguing. I want to see if you are a worthy fighter. Show yourself." said Larry. Faug showed himself.
Faug was a very big creature. He turned out to be a large fire-breathing dragon with an intolerable intolerance for tolerating intolerable things. "Please, make yourself comfortable, one who speaks to me with disaffection for me," said Faug. "As for the fat one, come see me right away."
Dwayne waddled over to where Faug was standing. With one quick swoop, Faug picked Dwayne up and impaled him with his talon, and then, gracefully, finished by eating him.
"You monster!" screamed Larry. "I was planning on killing him!"
After chewing Dwayne, and spitting his bones out, Faug continued to talk. "Men of your type are hardly worthy for men of my type," he said, wiping his mouth with a giant napkin. "You see, I am the centre of all evil, except for my master, the Evil Lord Fing," explained Faug. "Me and you are incompatible. We must do something about that."
"Who the hell is Fing, might I ask?" asked Larry.
"Fing is my master. He is better known as the Evil Lord Fing, Ruler of Quarter-Earth, Bringer of the Apocalypse. When he was a child, a prophecy was fashioned and foretold of the bringing of the apocalypse by Fing. Nobody knows for sure whether or not this is true, because the prophet was probably high at the time, but there's one thing we do know about Fing: he is immortal," told Faug. "Immortal as the men who follow him."
"You mean his young?"
"Precisely. Faug's children are said to be the secrets of the Universe. They contain some sort of evil gene, which will not be present in its fullest until the child has committed an evil deed. I have no idea why I am telling you this," continued Faug.
"So you are saying that the children of Fing are utterly immortal?" asked Larry, who was starting to think about Lester.
"Yes."
"Which means that if you fell of a cliff, you wouldn't die?"
"Well, obviously, yes," replied Faug.
"And there's no way they can die?"
"Yes. If one immortal kills another, then the immortal who tries to kill the other immortal with become mortal but the immortal being killed will die, thus making them mortal. You see, as an immortal, you have one chance at killing another immortal and then you become mortal after successfully killing the immortal that you seek to kill. In other words, if I was immortal and you wanted to kill me, and you were immortal, then you would successfully be able to kill me, but then be burdened with the eternal drought of being mortal. If a mortal attempts to kill an immortal, then the mortal will parish due to non-immortality and the immortal who was sought to be killed will gain strength. But, being an immortal also means that you can kill whoever the hell you want, which is the same as being mortal, only you can kill up to one immortal before you become mortal again. The only way an immortal can kill more than one immortal is by killing two separate immortal entities at the exact same time. Should the foreign object being used to kill the immortals hit one immortal before the other immortal, the mortal trying to kill two (or more) immortals will then perish and the immortal who was not hit before the first immortal will gain strength?-oh dear, I appear to have gone cross-eyed."
"Then how about this:" started Larry.
"Yes?"
"You go to hell, Faug, and I can steal all of your riches," finished Larry.
"And how do you figure you're going to do that?"
"By killing you," told Larry.
"I figured quite as much. Okay. Go ahead and kill me then," said Faug, who stood still in a fixed position.
"Why are you just surrendering to me?" asked Larry.
"Do I have to give a reason? Go ahead and kill me," said Faug. And Larry did. It took several hours of beating, but he did. First came the skin off Faug, but Faug remained alive. Next came the head of Faug, but that only made him stronger. Lastly came out the heart of the dragon, which finally completed the killing of the dragon. After Faug was officially dead to Larry's standards, Larry started filling his pockets with random assorted gold things. A piece of jewellery caught his eye.
"What's this?" thought Larry. "It appears to be some sort of Druish jewellery." Larry put it on. Nothing happened. "Well, that was pointless. Let's keep looking………Ooo! What's this?" he said again, picking up another piece of random jewellery. He put it on. "Whoa!" he screamed. A bee just stung him. Nothing happened. "What ever happened to the magical piece of jewellery that I heard about?". Larry picked up the third and final piece of Druish jewellery. He put it on.
***
Evil Lord Fing was sitting in the middle of his chambers, as usual, with a wicked grin on his face. Perhaps he was upset because his plot to kidnap the Druish was a failure. He needed some time to relax. Maybe just this once he would leave his lair and go for a walk. "No, you can't do that. You are too popular among the young folk. Stay in your castle and don't do anything out of the ordinary. This is the prime time of your life. You are a handyman?-OFF WITH HIS?-Uh-oh; I appear to be getting mad at myself. I'll shut up now," thought Fing.
Fing was all out of ideas. He sat there with his crayons drawing miscellaneous battle scenes. His life was boring. If only he could figure something out…
***
Nothing happened when Larry put it on. "Damn," thought Larry. "Where could that magic random piece of jewellery have gone? Wait a tick?-is it that one? No. Is it that one? No. How about that one? No. Or maybe that one? No. Perhaps it's the one near that?-no I already tried that one. Hmph. Maybe it's this one?-no, that's just me wetting myself. Ah, here it is?-oh, wait, I've already tried that one. Maybe it's a metaphorical piece of jewellery. WAIT A SECOND! THERE IT IS!" screamed Larry with joy as he found it. It was in fact magical. It altered Larry in many positive ways.

VI.
The next morning, Larry woke up with his back curved on a rock. What fun. For some strange reason, Larry figured that this would be the last leg of his journey to go and rescue the Druids and safely return them to Druidia. "What happened right after I put the piece of jewellery on?" thought Larry. "Well, do you feel any better? Wait, I'm Larry's mind, I already know the answer to that one," he continued.
Larry was stuck in the middle of Quarter-Earth without any means of knowing how to get to Fing's lair, and he was too nervous to go ask anybody whether or not they knew. But he built up the courage anyways.
"Excuse me, Mr. Local Yokel, but do you know how to get to Evil Lord Fing's lair?" asked Larry.
"What y'all gotto doo is done gone and walked down that street over dare and taked y'all lefted. Once y'all gone done and turned lefted, ya gotto gone done and gone down the road," said the Local Yokel, whose name remained ambiguous.
"Thank you."
"Y'all welcome."
"I'm going to go now."
"Y'all can gone done and doo that," said the Yokel.
Larry walked down the road and took a left where the yokel had instructed. Surely enough, a sign came into view that said You are Now Entering Fing World; Day Pass $10/youth, $15/oldie, $35/adult male, $80/adult female, $1 miscellaneous*, yearly pass $9 000 (per family of 4).
*Must have proof of miscellaneousness.
"This must be it," said Larry.
"Yes, we're finally here," said Lester.
"What are you doing here?" asked Larry.
"What are you talking about? I've been here all along!" exclaimed Lester. "The ambiguity of this lair is becoming too unbearable to desist from exhibiting," continued Lester. "Let us penetrate the burrow of the infamous 'Fing' and imbue ourselves with dignity and heroism," concluded Lester. Larry looked at Lester funnily. "What?"
"Nothing."
Suddenly, from out of the little shanty sitting on top of the dune came a stately wizard from the days of Yore. He bumped his head on the way out. "Ah ****! I seem to having ******* hit my ******* head on the ******* piece of **** door while on my ******* way out of my damn ******* shanty. Ah, ****! I forgot my ******* staff in my ******* shitty shanty! I must ******* go back and get the ******* thing before I ******* kill myself. Ah, ****, my ******* dog **** on my ******* staff and now I have to ******* clean the ******* thing up before the ******* duel tonight."
"Excuse me, but are you Fing?" asked Larry.
"What the ****? I'm not ******* Fing, you ******* moron. Fing lives ******* down in his ******* lair, dumbass."
"This is a PG story, so please keep the language to a low," said Lester.
"Okay," said the wizard. "I'll keep my ******* language to a ******* low, you damn ******* control freak. Want me to put a ******* spell on you?"
"Frankly, I don't care," said Larry. "Where's the entrance?"
"Ah, the ******* entrance to ******* Fing's ******* lair is ******* in my ******* shitty shanty," said the wizard.
"Okay…" said Larry.
"Just ******* kidding, it's the door over there," said the wizard, pointing to a door over there. "Take the ******* stairway of doom to his ******* chambers. Oh yeah, you'll know when you're at the ******* stairs of doom when you see pink?-he accidentally had them ******* painted pink when he was ******* decorating the place," said the wizard.
"Thank you!" shouted Lester.
"No fuckin' problem," replied the wizard.
***
Larry and Lester walked into the door over there and entered. The dark area they were in was surprisingly dark. "It's dark in here," said Larry.
"Tell me about it," said Lester.
"Okay; well, it's dark and musty?-" started Larry.
"I didn't mean tell me about it, I meant yes, what you are saying is something I agree with," said Lester.
"Ah," said Larry.
A pink stairway approached. You'd think it would be a long and strenuous stairway, but instead it was just one measly flight of ten stairs with a lone wheelchair ramp sitting at the side. Larry and Lester proceeded. When they entered the main chamber, Larry and Lester saw a funny thing.
"…Do you exchspect me to talk?" asked Sean Connery, as the laser moved closer and closer to his "ego".
"No, I expect you to sing Broadway show tunes," said Lord Fing, evilly.
"'Clang, clang, clang' ssched the trolley! 'Ding ding ding' went the bell. 'Zing zing zing' went my heart schringsch, for the moment I schaw him fell?-"
"ENOUGH!" screamed Fing. "Off with his head!" Sean Connery was decapitated.
"Um?-excuse me, Mr. Evil Lord Fing?-"
"Who are you?"
"I was trying to get to?-"
"I said who are you?"
"The thing is, I was trying to explai?-"
"Are you going to tell me who you are?"
"Yes, I am, but?-"
"Then what's stopping you from telling me who you are?"
"You are stopp?-"
"I am stopping?-"
"YES YOU ARE!" screamed Larry. Nobody had ever stood up to Fing like this before.
"Okay. Obviously you are of importance to?-"
"I am Count Larry of Lestershire, and this is my brother, Duke Lester the Nth of Larryington. We have come to save the?-"
"I don't care who you are; I want to know what you're here?-"
"I'm trying to tell you?-"
"Then tell me, dammit!"
"Just don't interrup?-"
"Okay," interrupted Fing.
"We are here to rescue our beloved Druids," told Larry.
"And what makes you think that I have those beloved Druids?" asked Fing, wisely.
"Nothing. Intuition, you could say."
"Intuition?"
"Yes, you heard me, intuition," said Larry.
"And that's the only reason to as why you are here?"
"Yes.
"Really?"
"Yes."
"Ah. Well, seeing as how I'm an Evil Lord and all, I'll tell you what: go die," warned Fing.
"Or else what?"
"Or else I'll kill you," replied Fing.
"That sounds like a good plan, but I'd rather just rescue the Druids," said Larry.
"Okay. Follow me."
"To where?"
"To where the Druids are being kept," said Fing.
"Ah."
Fing led Larry and Lester to the Druid Room, where all the Druids were neatly kept in a neatly tied stereotypical brown sack with a loosely tied string. "Only the touch of a nincompoop can save them," said Fing. "and you appear to be quite wise people. Mu-ahahahahaha…[etc.]" said Fing.
Larry went over to the bag and touched it. It opened and all the Druids came out safe and sound. "Okay…what the crap?" said Fing, puzzled. Just then, Fing realised something and left the room, using his walker at a slow pace. Larry and Lester stared. "If you're staring, I'm twenty-three, you know," said Fing, trying to add a lesser connotation to the fact that he was utterly, utterly ugly.
The Druids were in praise of Larry and Lester. "Yay!" etc. Larry wandered over to the head druid named Qz. "Excuse me, Qz, but I found an ancient treasure of your people," said Larry, handing over the random magical item of jewellery.
Qz was shocked. "Our people have lost this for billions of milliseconds. I praise you," said Qz.
"What does it do?"
"The inscriptions on the back are readable, but, unfortunately, the evil German that we hired to forge it for us wrote the secret to it in German. I also think he cursed us, too, because he knew that we'd never pay him," continued Qz.
"Ah," said Larry.
"I'll tell you what; you can wear this until we return home because you have graciously returned it to our people."
"Great!" said Larry, putting the magical piece of jewellery on. "Let's find the exit now." They left the Druid Room.
Continuing to walk, Larry and Lester, as well as Qz and the other forty-nine Druids, encountered a lone Fing, with all of his henchmen beheaded.
"Hello," said Fing, evilly. "I've been waiting for you fifty-two."
"I see," said Qz. Fing drew out a light-saver.
"This is a light-saver, the most powerful weapon and candy combination ever created. It can chop through skin so quickly that you can say 'Q-A-D-E-R-C-G-D-G-Y-H-B-H-G-E' before it's halfway through."
"Impressive,"
"Yes, it really is?-wait a minute?-I should be killing you!" screamed Fing. "But first, you'll need to come closer because I will tire if I use my walker."
"Eff you," said Larry.
"Okay," said Fing. "This isn't working out as planned. Come over here and randomly fight me then."
Suddenly and very randomly, a whole swarm of henchmen appeared out from Fing's hair and started making random fancy hand movements. Larry took out a gun and shot them all. "What the crap?" asked Fing. "Since when did you get a gun? They haven't even been invented yet!"
"What gun?" asked Larry, who cocked the gun and pointed at Fing's head.
"You can't kill me," said Fing.
"And why is that?" asked Lester.
"Because, well?-I'm your father…but please, call me Dad," said Fing.
"No way! That would explain all of my horoscopes," said Lester.

Two Months Earlier…

Weekly Horoscope* By Ganson McButtersworth
Sagittarius
You and your brother are the sons of an Evil Lord who may one day bring the apocalypse.
*Ganson is not responsible for any accuracies that may present themselves.

"Wait a minute. If you're twenty-three, and we're twenty-five, then how is it possible for you to be our father?"
"Hmm. Well, isn't it obvious?" said Fing. "But I'm positive that you're my children, though, because I noticed how the ugly one has my ugly looks."
"Damn you," said Larry.
"Tee-hee," tee-heed Lester.
"You see, I knew that I was going to have kids when I stopped menstruating," said Fing.
"Ew!"
"Why am I telling you this? I should be killing you!" said Fing, who was slowly poising himself for a battle. Lester and the fifty Druids left through the back door.
"I guess this is between you and I," said Fing.
"Not really, because given my height and strength, you literally have no chance," said Larry.
"Ah," said Fing. "Please don't kill me."
"I wish I didn't have to, but I didn't come all the way out here just to rescue a whole bunch of Druids without killing anybody," said Larry. "If only I was back in Jargovia with Lester, the fifty Druids, and my ten million moneys," said Larry. Suddenly it happened.
***
There was a big party. Loud music was playing. Everybody was having a good time. Waiters were bringing around trays of cheese and wine. "How did this happen?" asked Larry to Qz.
"The piece of jewellery. It must be some sort of plot-changing device. It changes the plot the way the user sees fit. A deux aux machina if you will," said Qz.
"What?"
"Nothing."
Lester walked over to Larry. "Where's all the loud music coming from, and who's providing all the booze?" asked Lester.
"I'm not sure. It's a party; it doesn't have to make sense. Enjoy it while you can."

Part the Second
Part the Second

I

A few years passed.

A Few Years Earlier…
The night after the party, Larry woke up. The left side of his right side was painfully cold. Larry sat up. A dishevelled man was towering over his bed. "Hello," said the man. "I am a dishevelled man," he continued. "As you can tell, I am towering over your bed," he concluded.
"No ****," said Larry, who was angry that the maids had let a towering, dishevelled man into the compound. "Why are you here?"
"You see, I am an assassin," said the man. "I was sent here to kill you?-"
"Yes, I get it," interrupted Larry.
"?-because I am an assassin," said the man.
"Yes, I know what an assassin is," replied Larry.
"And my employer sent me to kill you," continued the man. Larry was beginning to fatigue.
"Ah," said Larry.
"You see, assassins are hired to kill people?-"
"For God's sake I know what a ******* assassin is!" screamed Larry.
"Yes, you see," started the man. "I was sent to kill you in your sleep while you were sleeping."
"And how were you planning on accomplishing that?" asked Larry.
"By killing you, of course," said the man.
"But how were planning on killing me is the question," said Larry.
"Well, I was going to drench you in lighter fluid," said the man, who held up a tin of lighter fluid, "and then I was going to light you on fire using my handy-dandy Zippo," he said, holding up a tattered Zippo with the words Property of George Blaisdell's secret laboratory* inscribed neatly in the place where they had been inscribed.
"Interesting," said Larry, who was beginning to think of something to say to the assassin to possibly ward him away, thereby changing the future and preventing his death, therefore hereby preventing the prophecy from being severed, whereas he dies, therefore severing the prophecy, thereby making the story come to an abrupt and dull closing. Larry was still very cowardly, and things never came out the way he meant them to.
"And now, I simply need to lean over and pick up this lighter fluid," said the man, stupidly narrating his movement. "And then flick my Zippo," he continued.
"STOP!" screamed Larry, who was developing courage.
"Really? You want me to stop?" asked the assassin.
"Be quiet, you, or I'll?-I'll?-uh?-shave your beard in your sleep, while you're sleeping, of course," said Larry.
"You'll shave my beard?"
"Yes."
"But I don't have one,"
"Well?-uh?-hmm?-I didn't think of that?-well?-GROW ONE!" said Larry.
"You want me to grow a beard," said the man, starting to sound pathetic.
"Yes. I want you to grow a beard so that I can threaten you by threatening to shave it in your sleep," said Larry.
"But I won't grow one then," said the man.
"Well?-you better watch your back, because I'm going to make it grow," said Larry, taking the random piece of Druish jewellery out of his drawer.
"You're going to make it grow?" said the man.
"Yes," said Larry. "Please grow a beard," commanded Larry to the piece of jewellery. Nothing happened. Instead, a man walked into the room.
"Umm…yeah…you forgot to specify who you want to grow a beard…yeah," he said, leaving the room.
"Jewellery, make this man, the man that I am pointing to," started Larry, pointing at the dishevelled man, "grow a beard so I can threaten him that I'll shave it off in his sleep." Nothing happened. The man appeared again.
"No offence to you or your family, but you're a dumbass. The random piece of magical Druish jewellery may be all-powerful, but for one thing, can't see anything. You can't just point at something and expect the jewellery to go 'Ah, yes, that guy'. If the jewellery could see, then there wouldn't have been this discrepancy, but unfortunately, this had to happen," explained the man, walking away.
"Jewellery, make this man, the assassin in the room that I am standing in, grow a beard so I can threaten him that I'll shave it off in his sleep." Larry waited. Nothing happened. The man appeared again.
"You don't understand. You have to specify where the beard has to be, and what color it is," told the man, walking away.
"Fine. Jewellery, make this man, the assassin in the room that I am standing in, grow a beard on his face that is the same color as his natural hair color so I can threaten him that I'll shave it off in his sleep." Nothing happened. The man appeared again.
"Once again, the jewellery cannot see the man's natural hair color," told the man.
"Wait a second…If the jewellery cannot see the man's natural hair color, how am I supposed to decide what his natural hair color is? What if the man dyes his hair?"
"Umm?-I have black hair," said the assassin, who was staring to butt into things.
"Thank-you," said Larry, who waived the man who kept appearing away. "Jewellery, make this man, the assassin in the room that I am standing in, grow a beard on his face that is black so I can threaten him that I'll shave it off in his sleep." Nothing happened. The man appeared.
"Why don't you just give the jewellery to me, and I can kill him, and we can forget all this **** about where the beard is ******* located and what color it is!" said the man, beginning to sound annoyed. A green dwarf appeared behind his manifestation.
"Don't! It's a trick!" yelled the dwarf.
"Jewellery, kill everybody in this room except for me?-wow, that's more simple than before," said Larry, as all the people perished, including the manifestation of the crazy man and the little green dwarf.
"Ironically, that situation itself had nothing to do with the plot," said Larry, winking into what seemed was nothing. Larry got dressed and began to get ready for the day. Today was the First Annual Meeting of the Brothers, a charity event that saw Larry and Lester on a stage having a meeting, while ailing spectators sat and bored themselves to death, but not before paying a hefty fee. It was a nice way to suck money from the town.
Larry left the castle, and headed to the stage, where Lester awaited him. Unbeknownst to Larry, but knownst to us, while he had been walking from the castle to the stage, Lester had stolen the piece of jewellery and given it back to the Druids in a big ceremony earlier this morning. They greeted each other. "Hello, Larry. Where the hell were you, bitch?"
"Good morning to you too," said Larry sarcastically. "Can we just get this over with?"
"Sure thing," said Lester, drawing a breath and raising his voice to announce the beginning of the meeting. "We will now start taking questions from the audience to mark the start of our meeting."
From the corner of the back of the front of the left side of the right corner of the audience came a question from a little boy wearing nothing other than a French hat with a giant red pompom and some penny loafers. "This question is for the both of you. You've done nothing else heroic since you saved the Druids. When can we expect you to start opening your hearts to the poorer areas of Jargovia? I'm tired of going down to market to pick random things up and being swarmed by the weird people."
"Speak for yourself, stupid," said Larry.
"I'm stupid?" replied the boy.
"Yes. That's why I called you stupid."
"Oh yeah?"
"Oh yeah what, stupid?"
"You are…uh…more stupider!" replied the boy.
"Nu-uh! No fair!" replied Larry, who now was starting to get upset.
"Yes. You are more stupider than me."
"Oh yeah? Well you're…stupidest," replies Larry.
Flowing the tears, the boy replied, "You're MORE STUPIDEST!" That did it.
"Guards!" shouted Larry. Guards came at once. "Arrest this boy," commanded Larry.
"The law prevents us from arresting minors, Count Larry. We cannot take him to jail," said one of the guards.
"Then take him into the back of the stage where the lovely audience members cannot see him and [winking] give him a special gift from [winking even more] the lovely [almost squinting] people from the castle, especially [forming a brand-new unknown Picasso-face] me."
"OK," replied the guard. He did as instructed. The questions continued.
"Larry, since Lester was the one who returned the random piece of Druish jewellery back to the Druids, and since Lester is the smarter, better-looking one, and since Lester is the one who is kinder and more thoughtful, do you ever get jealous of him?"
"Yes, I do," said Larry. "I'm planning on killing him?-either that or having him assassinated," he said.
"Ahahaha; good one," chuckled Lester. "You are really funny."
The upsetting thing was that Larry wasn't joking. He decided to laugh along with the rest of the people so as not to make himself conspicuous.
"What can we see from Larry and Lester this upcoming year?" asked an audience member.
"We plan on doing many acts of kindness," said Lester. "That Druid incident was just a milestone of our ruthless, tyrannical reign of power over this state," he continued, beginning to sound evil. "We will do many good things this year," he added through his teeth. The audience cheered. He stood up and posed for a light-shadow development.
"Jackass," mumbled Larry.
"Pardon?" asked Lester.
"Nothing, replied Larry."
***
Larry wanted to put an end to Lester, but openly killing him would prove too much. There were also too many options for killing: mace or axe? Cat o' nine tails or sledge hammer? Then there was a matter of disposing the corpse: water or cement? Burying or zombifying? Cremating or burning? Larry was too dimwitted to think of the options; and plus he was lazy all the same. He decided to hire a personal assistant to assist in the areas in which he needed to be assisted.

From the pen of Duke Lester the Nth of Larryington
His royal majesty requests a personal assistant. Must be male, handsome, and be able to talk at a rate of thirty-four syllables per second. Also must be fluent in twelve foreign languages including French, German, Swedish, Finnish, Icelandic, Spanish, Chinese, and Klingon. PhDs are preferred but not necessary.

Also wanted:
A personal assistant to assist in areas of needed assistance is wanted by Count Larry. No special talents required.

It took about three and a half days to get a response.
"Hello," said Larry.
"Hello," said the interviewee. "I am interested in the position you have available. I was curious, what is that pay?"
"The pay is whatever I say it is. You will start off earning nothing but respect. I am a cheapskate. You must learn to respect my cheeky ways," said Larry.
"Well, I've never!" exclaimed the man.
"You've never what? Met a man who speaks of his mind? You'll find I'm not the most formal employer. I'll tell you what, brownnose, you have forty-seven seconds to get off of my property before I 'enrich' your lower back with my ever so wonderful pikes."
"I do believe Sir, that I haven't any faults," said the man.
"Oh, really? Well what is the mathematical term for an infinity sign?"
"I do believe it's called a figure-eight."
"Holy crap, you're right!" exclaimed Larry. Boy, was Larry a dumbass. (An infinity sign is called a lemniscate). "You're hired. What's your name?"
"My name is Heydof Hiller. If you say it fast enough, it sounds kind of cool," remarked Heydof.
"Interesting. Your first assignment is to kill my brother, Lester. If you succeed, well, I'll…umm…well I guess that's the only thing I need a personal assistant for," said Larry.
"I'll see to it," said Heydof. "right away."

II
Heydof left the building. Walking home on the more copyright-friendly road made of rectangular yellow stones that led through Jargovia, he accidentally walked under a ladder and fell on a crack in the pavement, scaring off a black cat. What Haydof didn't tell Larry was that he was extremely accident-prone.
Opening the door to his house and placing his shoes upside down on his table, he threw his hat on his bed, and it was just then he noticed his bed was positioned north and south. It was just then he had the craving for some cigarettes. He always liked three, and he lit all three with the same match.
"How to kill a man," thought Heydof, as a black raven from the days of yore started pecking at his head. "DAMN YOU, RAVEN!!! DAMN YOU!!!" he screamed, running around frantically. He ran into a mirror and shattered it. "Look what you've done! You've broken my mirror, raven!" He killed it by dropping an umbrella on the floor.
"How to kill a man," he continued thinking. "Oh! I'll consult my handbook on organization."

The Six Steps to an Organized Plan
If you carefully follow these steps, you will succeed in carrying out a plan.
1. Make a plan and decide what it is you want to do.
2. Make a schedule.
3. Make all your participants aware of the plan you wish to carry out.
4. Execute your plan.
5. Buy more of the books in this book set.
6. Tell your friends about us.

"Interesting," exclaimed Heydof. The key to assassinating Lester will be to have an organized plan. Makes sense."
Heydof walked over to his cabinet to get some schedule paper, but not before tripping. "Alright…let's see here…Larry said I need to kill Lester as soon as possible, so I'll try to fit the assassination in on Monday…no wait a minute…that won't work because I have an appointment then…Tuesday it is! Around four o'clock shall cut it. Now, to notify the participants…Well, the only real participant in this plan is Lester, so according to the book, I shall give him notice of his planned assassination."

Dear Duke Lester the Nth of Larryington
I am pleased to inform you that I have scheduled a date for your assassination. It will be on Tuesday of the next week at around 4 o'clock. I will not be able to secure an exact location, but I assure you it will be within the vicinity of your castle.
Sincerely,
Heydof Hiller,
Son of Alois Hiller

"There. Now everything is in motion."
***
"Excuse me sir, it's time to bring in the post," said one of the loyal royal guards.
"The post?" inquired Lester.
"Yes, sir. The post," replied the guard.
"What the hell is post?" asked Lester. The guard sighed.
"It's a fancy word for the word mail, sir,"
"Ah, the mail; please bring in the mail at once," directed Lester. "I'll tip you after, Jeeves,"
"But my name's not Jeeves, sir,"
"Well I'll be damned if it isn't. Do you want your tip or not?"
"Yes, sir,"
"Then thank you, Jeeves," said Lester. Jeeves brought in the post.
"WHAT'S THIS!?" yelled Lester. "ASSASSINATION!!"
"Well, you see sir, you wanted that man assassinated, so that's your bill."
"Yes, quite," said Lester. He continued reading. "WHAT'S THIS? ASSASSINATION!!!" he yelled, once again.
"Sir, you read the same letter again."
"Ah, Jeeves, you do deserve my tips," said Lester, who turned to the next letter. "ASSASSINATION!" screamed Lester, yet again.
"Let me see that," said Jeeves, taking the letter from Lester's hands. "It says that I will be killed," said Jeeves. "That doesn't make any sense. Why would the letter be addressed to you and be a letter of the planned assassination of me?"
"Ha….ha…you got it bad," said Lester, flipping to the next letter. "ASSASSINATION! WHAT'S THIS? IT SAYS THAT I HAVE A SCHEDULED ASSASSINATION! ME! OF ALL PEOPLE! WHY IS IT THAT THE RICH, TALENTED, SMART, WEALTHY, GIFTED, INTELLIGENT, WELL-OFF, CLEVER, LOADED PEOPLE OF HIGH SOCIAL STATURE HAVE TO BE THE VICTIMS OF ASSASSINATION PLOTS?! YOU NEVER SEE A HOBO GET KNOCKED, DO YOU JEEVES!"
"Well, in all fairness, sir, the point of an assassination is to get rid of those with high stature," remarked Jeeves.
"Not necessarily," pointed out Lester.
"How so?"
"Well, you know that assassination letter you got?"
"Yes."
"Well, it was from me," said Lester. Lester got up and picked up a fire stoker. He beat Jeeves a couple of times in the back and then jumped up and down repeatedly on his skull. "I'll show you the post," said Lester. "Ah, nevermind, that catch phrase didn't really make any sense. I need to get to the bottom of this assassination plot. HILARY!!!!" shouted Lester.
A lady walked in from the other room. "You're not Hilary!" yelled Lester.
"I know. I just liked the sound of that name," said the lady.
"But the fact is that you responded to my calling of the name Hilary!" yelled Lester.
"What's you're point?"
"My point is that I won't tolerate such rubbish on my staff. You're gone," said Lester.
"Well, OK, I don't actually work here anyways," said the lady.
"I meant you're gone as in you're dead," said Lester. He took a gun out of his pocket and shot her. "Ugh, I hate corpses…they're so corpsish," said Lester, who lit of the corpse on fire. "HILARY!!!" he continued.
"Yes?" came from the other room.
"Are you actually Hilary?"
"I believe so," said Hilary as she walked in the room.
"Well believing so isn't good enough," said Lester, as he shot her. "Blah! I hate killing people!" shouted Lester. "I'll just get to the bottom of it myself. But I'll need someone else to get to the bottom of it myself for me." A guard walked into Lester's room. "I need you to be where I am on Tuesday at 4 o'clock. I'm going to be assassinated and I need you to kill my assassin. Hopefully he's just a bungling mongrel idiot who's so unlucky that he accidentally shoots himself," said Lester as he chucked.
"Fat chance," said the guard, who chuckled as well. "He's probably a professional. I mean, typically, assassins are naturally professional by trade. Seriously Lester, it's not like it's going to be some sort of personal assistant trying to be an assassin or anything. Expect the worst."
***
"Excuse, me, I'd like an assassin costume for rent, please," said Heydof to the costume-shop owner. Heydof wanted to complete his assassin look. He had already purchased the typical black shoes and little hat with the eye slits, and now all he needed was a complete black uniform.
"What color? We have ninja-red, Asian-black, Jamaican-yellow, Canadian-red-and-white, Scottish Plaid, Jargovian-green, and power-ranger plastic-white. We also sell a replicate of the suit of John Wilkes Booth, 50% off on President's day."
"I'll take the Asian-black, please," said Heydof.
A Few Days Later…

It was around 4 o'clock on Tuesday, and Heydof was on his way down to find Lester so as to kill him. Although Heydof didn't exactly know where Lester would be, he just walked around and looked for a would-be Lester. A would-be Lester wasn't particularly the he-is Lester, but merely more of a could-be Lester. A could-be Lester could be defined as anything from a looks-like-Lester to a sounds-like-Lester, although a sounds-like-Lester couldn't be confused with a looks-like-Lester unless the could-be Lester looks and sounds like a Lester. Now, one must come to a definite conclusion to as what a Lester is before even beginning to compare a look-alike-Lester to an actual Lester, or a could-be Lester from a he-is-Lester. Heydof was looking for a he-is Lester. If he killed a could-be Lester, then he wouldn't be doing his job. Unfortunately, Heydof was a pretty unlucky bastard.
"Yes! I see him!" cried out Heydof, who took out his gun and aimed. It was surprising nobody walking through the street seemed to care. Heydof shot. The body fell down onto the street with a soft, dull thud. Heydof walked over and made sure that he had killed Lester. Heydof removed the man's ID. "Ingroot Hodge-kin-sin…oh, wait, spelled it wrong; Hodgekinson. Well, that sounds kinda like Lester, but?-" suddenly Lester's guard appeared beside Heydof.
"Are you Heydof?"
"Why is it that you want to know?" asked Heydof.
"Well, you see, I was instructed to eliminate an assassin going by the name of Heydof Hiller. He is going to assassinate Duke Lester the Nth of Larryington," said the guard.
"Well, in that case, I'm not Heydof," said Heydof.
"Well then what is your name?" asked the guard.
"Uhhhhh…it's Key…..brof…yeah, Keybrof," said Heydof.
"I'm getting the vibe that you're not telling the truth," said the guard.
"Well first we must define what one thinks the truth is," said Heydof, buying some time.
"The truth is defined as a correct or valid statement pertaining to whatever is it pertains to," said the guard, who was obviously trying to sound intellectual.
"Ah, then I am indeed telling the truth," said Heydof.
"Well I'm afraid I'm going to kill you anyway. Your outfit is a dead giveaway," said the guard.
"What are you planning on killing me with? I see no weapons of the killing sort laden on you."
"Well, I am carrying ye olde wickyr baskete, aren't I?" asked the guard.
"Yes. I see. You must have the chosen weapon of execution in the basket."
"No, actually I was planning on using the ye baskete," said the guard.
"Who would use a wicker basket?"
"Actually you spelt it wrong, it's wickyr bastkete," corrected the guard.
Heydof quickly drew a sword from what seemed was nowhere and the two started to duel. The baskete clanged as the guard clanged it against the sword, which did not clang as it was made out of non-metal materials, which would make it physically impossible to clang as such. The guard got a good strike in and started to senselessly beat him senseless.
The guard picked Heydof up, and carried him over his shoulder to the dock and deported him to Germany. Of course, Heydof was unconscious all the while.
***
Heydof woke up in a daze in a building. The people who manned the boat who deported him there must have seen his outfit and mistaken him for an assassin, so he was put in the building for the Guild of German Assassins. Ironically, the assassin guild was much more professional than one might think a European murder-for-hire business would be. There was a desk, and one of those planter pots with the fake flowers in them, and of course, the building smelled like the German version of Febreeze, which was called Nicensmellen. Heydof walked over to the desk.
"Hello, sir, would you like to book in?" asked the secretary.
"Suuure," said Heydof.
"Under what name shall I book you in for?" asked the lady.
"Umm….Heydof Hiller," said Heydof, who mumbled.
"Okay, Mr. Hitler, you have a meeting in a beer hall tonight."
"Okay…I'm sorry, tonight?"
"Yes, tonight- the eighth of November. You have a scheduled meeting in a beer hall. You scheduled it yourself, sir."
"Okay then…I guess I'll be going to my meeting. Did I specify which beer hall?"
"It doesn't seem that way."
"Hmph," said Heydof, who stormed out of the building. He bumped into a man on the street.
"I'm sorry, sir," said the man.
"Perfectly ok," said Heydof, who continued walking. He stopped to tie his shoe further down the street and bumped into another man.
" I'm sorry, sir," said the man.
"Perfectly fine," said Heydof, who continued walking. He crossed the street.
Suddenly a car came and hit him. The driver got out. "Holy crap, are you all right?" asked the driver.
"I'm fine. Being the intellectual I am, I shifted my internal organs unconsciously to avoid serious medical harm.
"Riiight," said the driver. "Let me help you up."
"I'm sorry…have we met before?" asked Heydof.
"No," said the driver. "Why all the small talk? I gotta' go and kill some guy."
"You're an assassin?" asked Heydof.
"Damn straight. What's it to you?"
"I'm an assassin too, and I was wondering if you could do a job for me, since mine was unfinished.
"Sure, why not, it's not as if I have anything else important in my life," said the driver, completely unsarcastically. "Where's the job?"
"Jargovia."
"Pff…like I know where that is," said the driver, once again, unsarcastically. "It's off the east coast of Oceania. I'm sorry…I'm afraid I haven't introduced myself properly. My name is Der Nizza Teddy-Bär Meuchelmörder, and I am an infamous German assassin. My friends just call me Meuchelmörder."
"I'm Hitler. The guy you need to kill is named Lester," said Heydof.
"Interesting. I guess I'll be on my way," said Meuchelmörder, who got back in the car. Heydof got up and walked into the beer hall coincidentally on the other side of the street.

Two Hours Later…

"…and that is why I think we should overthrow the government," said Heydof. The crowd cheered.

III

Larry heard of the news that Lester learned an assassin had been hired to assassinate him. Unfortunately, Larry knew nothing of Meuchelmörder and devised another plan. He would enlist the help of the Chinese Red Tong Society in its entirety and have a whole army of assassins raid Lester's body with poky fiery shiny things.
Larry called up the society and asked for their entire help, and obviously offered a plethora of gold to those who came over and helped him out with his problem. Of course, the whole society offered to help and came over right away.
***
Meuchelmörder was driving his car along the highway when a police car strolled up behind him. Fortunately Meuchelmörder car had a seventh gear, and he sped away. Inevitably the police car caught up and Meuchelmörder was out of change so he stabbed him a few times and continued his journey to the airport.
He arrived and started looking for a parking space in the parkade. Surprisingly enough there weren't any parking spaces. Meuchelmörder continued driving his undersized and priced car in an effort to find an empty stall amongst the occupied ones.
"****."
He continued to drive. There was a lady backing out of a parking stall, and Meuchelmörder quickly manoeuvred his car in the direction of the now perceptible opportunity (or lack thereof). It was too late.
"Super ****."
That had been enough. He got out of his car and walked over to the man who had taken the stall.
"Well, it's not really worth it," thought Meuchelmörder. "Wait a minute…why should you be taking this kind of crap from some guy you know you'll never see again in your life?" A sudden build-up of courage built up in Meuchelmörder. "Excuse me, old chum," he said.
"Yeah, what do you want?" replied the man, in a rude and sarcastic dialect.
"I couldn't help but notice that you seized my parking stall that I had clearly been poised to seize myself,"
"Can't you find another parking stall?"
"This one seems to satisfy my requirements of a worthy parking stall more so than the rest. How about I bribe you four thousand of these British pounds and you can just flee from the stall before anything serious happens."
"You're not a tough guy. How about I give you four thousand of my fist pounds?"
"That doesn't seem fit for two reasons: one of which you are merely misjudging my disposition, and secondly, it is quite physically impossible to conjure that kind of strength at a moment's notice. If I were to deem you anything, it would a none other than a coward."
"Oh yeah?"
"Oh yeah to what?"
"Just go away, you…uhh…big-word-user!"
"I refuse to go away until this conundrum of a problem is solved in my favour."
"YOU MEANIE!"
"Yes, I'm quite a meanie," said Meuchelmörder. The man ran off in tears.
"Wow," thought Meuchelmörder. "Gradual increase of psychological harm is indeed more fun than just shooting someone. But still?-" sadness hit Meuchelmörder's heart. He missed not killing someone when a confrontation arose. With the man still in sight, Meuchelmörder took out some throwing stars and threw them at the man's back. Of course, Meuchelmörder must've hit a tendon or something because the man immediately fell and started convulsing.
***
There was a knock at the door. Larry finished up his dictionary reading and answered. The whole of the Red Tong Society was on the small sundeck. "Hullo. I am Lok-Tok. Leader of Society. You Larry?"
"Yes."
"We come in now," said Lok-Tok.
"Sure."
"Red Tong Society kill for money, yes?" asked Lok-Tok.
"It's you're society and you should know what it does, yes?" asked Larry sarcastically.
"Lok-Tok not accustomed to rudeness. You better high pay Red Tong," he said.
"First we should have a plan or a meeting or something so you guys don't go and make fools or yourselves," said Larry.
"Lok-Tok no fool, Luke," said Lok-Tok.
"It's Larry," said Larry.
"Forgive Lok-Tok. He is shithead sometimes," said Lok-Tok.
"You just said you're not a fool,"
"Service Red Tong you want?"
"Yes."
"Then quiet up," said Lok-Tok.
"Alrighty then," sighed Larry, as he let the society in.
They gathered in the study. Lok-Tok began speaking.
"You call Lok-Tok on phone two day ago and make primise of gold, yes?" asked Lok-Tok.
"The word is promise, and yes," said Larry, who was beginning to have second thoughts.
"Lesta' is bad fighta', yes?" asked Lok-Tok.
"Yes."
"Ah! Lok-Tok know perfect plan! Lok-Tok need time. Please leave away back ten," said Lok-Tok.
Larry left the room and left Lok-Tok and the society to talk.
Outside the study he heard what appeared to be two people arguing.
"…and then I placed the water container on the counter at precisely ten past six."
"YOU WERE IN MY ROOM AT TEN PAST SIX!"
"Maybe my judgement was wrong…but I do remember placing the container on the counter.
"No, it was I that put the container on the counter."
"Nuh-uh!"
"Yuh-huh!"
"DID NOT!"
"DID TOO!"
"DID NOT!"
"DID TOO!!"
"Now let's be mature about this. I placed the water container on the counter and that's it. [Cover ears.] NANANANANANANANA…."
The ten minutes passed. Larry went back into the study.
"Ah, Larry, we plan think up," said Lok-Tok.
"I don't want to burst your bubble, Lok-Tok, but is there somebody else who can speak better English than you?" inquired Larry.
"You think Lok-Tok speak bad?"
"Yes."
"Ah…Lok-Tong! Here come!" screamed Lok-Tok, as a man walked over.
"Hello. I am Lok-Tong," said the man. "We have a plan to kill Lester."
"What is your plan?" asked Larry eagerly.
"Our plan," said Lok-Tong, "Is one of great complexity. We will require superior strength and stealth to do what we wish to carry out."
"Interesting," said Larry.
"Now I will announce our plan," said Lok-Tong.
"Plan we announce!" annunciated Lok-Tok.
"Continue, please," said Larry.
"Our plan," said Lok-Tong, "is to raid the castle and kill everybody we see."
"Simple enough," said Larry. "One small thing though. I do not have full confidence in you so I have decided to team your society up with a wacky black cop with a big mouth to not only serve as some comic relief, but as a vehicle to Chris Tucker. It is a wise idea for me to do that,"
"In Red Tong, men are modest," said Lok-Tok.
"Don't worry, Lok-Tang, or whatever your name is, I'm a very, very, very, very, very, very, very modest person. In fact, I'm probably the most modest person on the face of the earth. " said Larry. "Now, with that said, I would like to introduce Jamal." A man with a small afro blasted through the door. The sad part was that he was more professional than Larry.
"Hello," said Jamal. "I am Jamal,"
"Ah," said Lok -Tok.
"Now, before we raid the castle," started Larry, "we will need to get ready and find out where Lester is these days. I think he's in his summer home, though it makes no sense that I would know that, but still," said Larry.
"Let's get ready," said a voice, which wasn't Larry's.
Lester, after learning that someone wanted to assassinate him, retreated to an
undisclosed location so as to not be found. It was in the middle of a desert island located just off Jargovia. In other words, Lester was hiding on an island off the coast of an island off the coast of a group of islands. Although the place where Lester was staying wasn't very protected, nobody knew where it was, and thus made it impossible for anyone to find him whatsoever. The only person who knew about this location was Larry.
***
Meuchelmörder got out of his parked car and walked into the airport. He went over to the ticket desk, got a ticket to Jargovia, and proceeded to walk to security.
"NEXT!" screamed the security lady. Meuchelmörder took his weapon bag and placed it on the little luggage conveyer belt, and walked through the metal detector with his big black shiny leather trench coat, with lots of random peaks due to the many swords concealed within. The beeper beeped.
"I'm sorry sir, you're going to have to remove any metallic objects you are carrying," said the heavy-set women with the little paddle thingy.
"Rrrrreally," cooed Meuchelmörder. "Is….THIS [pulls out sword and does a less-than-impressive-Charlie's-Angel's-solo-stance] considered metallic?"
The lady paused. Without a flinch (or a ripple, for that matter), she said, "Yes sir, that is considered metallic under the book Metallic Objects section 4-F paragraph sixty-two, verse forty-five, line one hundred-forty-one. Swords of the yesteryear era fashioned by skilled craftsmen with pointy little craftsman hats."
"Well I'm bringing it on the craft anyways."
"Well how many more do you have?"
"I have twelve."
"The German government prevents no more than five (5) swords on a craft submitted by one single person," said the lady, with a smirk on her face.
"Well that's simple, I'll just pay some people to carry the others on for me," said Meuchelmörder.
"DFLKJREYFLDKD!!" screamed the lady. Meuchelmörder was outwitting her. "Now that I am aware of your intentions I have to confiscate all of them," said the lady, trying to corner Meuchelmörder.
"You just said I can take no more that five (5) swords on the plane. I will do just that. You cannot punish me," he said.
"ERTIUEWOIUEW!!!!" she screamed. Meuchelmörder continued to the second screening process.
"Please remove all weapons," said the man wearing the elite-looking airport costume.
"Well I'm afraid I cannot do that," said Meuchelmörder.
"And why is that, sir?"
"Because…I don't…have…any," replied Meuchelmörder.
"Okay. Carry on," said the man, waving Meuchelmörder onto the gate area. He continued walking. The man who waved him on suddenly realised something about Meuchelmörder.
"Stop that man!" screamed the man. Security guards came and pummelled Meuchelmörder. The man walked over.
"You forgot this pointy metal object of some sort," said the man.
"Thank you," said Meuchelmörder.
"You're welcome."
"I am ever grateful."
"And that you are," said the man.
"Quite right."
"Mmhmm,"
"I guess I'll be carrying on with my flight now, now that you have recovered my pointy metallic object of some sort,"
"I guess you shall."
"And I will be leaving Germany."
"That you will….that you will," said the man, who turned to walk away.
"That I will," shouted Meuchelmörder. The man turned around and walked back.
"That you will," he said again.
"I'll see you later,"
"Buh-bye then," said the man, walking away.
***
Larry was excited. He had never been on an expedition by himself before. He felt of high-stature as the leader of a society of elite assassins and a wacky black cop named Jamal. Larry, knowing that Lester was in his summer home off the coast of Jargovia, started planning. Larry's current position was on the western side of Jargovia, and the island in which he sought to raid was off the eastern coast, so he knew there would be a giant journey from coast to coast, and then across a sea, and then to another coast, and, since Lester was on the eastern side of the island, another coast. Larry decided it would be best for his men to leave at once so he could gain power over Jargovia quicker. He instructed the men to bring superfluous amounts of that special black stuff you spread on your face because he liked the cool designs they made. The first leg of the journey started by walking. The next morning it began.

IV
Larry never knew Jargovia had such a landscape. He read somewhere that Jargovia was all plains, yet he was astonished how there was immediately a lush jungle ready to be penetrated by his troupe. Things couldn't be right.
They penetrated the jungle. A blast of air hit Larry in the face. "OW!" he screamed. He knew this smell. The very smell Larry had smelt a while back. It was sickening. "Jamal! Put out your cigarette!" he screamed again.
"Sorry boss," said Jamal.
"Don't be sorry, just don't do it again!"
"I can't guarantee that, boss,"
"Then leave my troupe."
"I don't wanna," whined Jamal.
"Hmph," hmphed Larry
There came a clearing in the jungle. It was perfectly circular and very foreboding. Larry ignored it and continued walking. Suddenly, a giant pink reptile jumped out from one of the trees and clamped onto Jamal. "OO OO OWW!!!" Jamal screamed. The reptile wiggled away. "What was that?"
"It appeared to be the Jargovian Pink Lizard of Death," said Larry.
"Ah," said Jamal. "Is it poisonous?"
"Very," said Larry.
"Is there an antidote?"
"Yes, it's actually an extremely simple remedy that works one-hundred percent of the time," said Larry.
"?-" went Jamal.
"You're not asking me to get it for you, are you?" asked Larry.
Jamal nodded.
"Well, I don't know. I'll think about it," said Larry, and continued walking. The speech of Lok-Tok, Lok-Tong, and the rest of the society remained startlingly ambiguous.
"So, you say that we simply raid your brother's castle?" asked Jamal.
"It seems that way."
"Why do you want him killed anyways?"
"Oh, you know, the usual; evil brother wants to tyrannically reign power over a nation without having to split it," explained Larry.
"Interesting. When I was young, I had a brother, Jamal II, and he was the most annoying brother ever. I wanted to kill him every minute of every day," said Jamal.
"And did you kill him?"
"No, but he ended up committing suicide," said Jamal. "Apparently he was mad at how I wanted to kill him. Ironic. He's mad how I want to kill him, so to prove a point, he kills himself."
"How did he die?"
"He drank some of my mom's lemonade."
"Was her cooking really that bad?"
"No. He put some acid in his stomach before hand, and then drinking the lemonade produced a chemical reaction and his stomach exploded." Larry chuckled. Jamal chuckled. Everybody chuckled.
They kept walking through the jungle, which was really sad, because they expected to walk a huge twelve-hundred mile journey across a continent. A little mud hut came into view.
"What do you expect that is?" asked Jamal.
"It appears to be some sort of mud hut," said Larry. "Let's go inside." They walked inside.
"Welcome to my mud hut," said a man, as they entered. "Many men are afraid to come inside it, but you came inside," said the man as the troupe continued to come inside.
"Who are you?"
"I am a crazy prophet and I have come here to tell you?-" Larry interrupted.
"You've come here to tell us? We came into your house!"
"Mud hut," corrected the prophet.
"Mud hut," repeated Larry.
"?-tell you that you shall?-REPENT!! REPENT!! EVIL AWAITS YOU! THE END IS [looks at watch and pauses]…NEAR!" blurted the prophet as if being possessed.
"Rrrrrright," said Larry. "We'll be leaving now." They left.
"Wait! I was just starting to make some friends!" screamed the prophet.
Larry, Jamal, and the rest of the society walked outside the mud hut and continued walking.
"What do you think that was all about?" asked Jamal.
"I have no idea whatsoever?-" a pickpocket/mugger strode up to Jamal and started yelling.
"Give me all your money!"
"What the ****?" said Jamal. "You can't come down here and jump me, bitch! I'm gonna slice y'all up so bad, you gonna wish I ain't sliced y'all up so bad!" The mugger ran away.
"Wow, you know how to handle yourself."
"Yeah, I spent my whole life like this," said Jamal. They kept walking. Nothing really happened for a few hours, and, eventually, Larry, Jamal, and the society got tired and fell asleep.
***
Meanwhile, 30 000 feet above the air, on the plane heading for Jargovia, that is, Flight 1138 direct Germany to Jargovia, in other words, the plane Meuchelmörder was on, nothing much was happening.
Meuchelmörder was sitting in a chair, reading an in-flight magazine, when a Jewish stewardess walked up to him and tapped him gently on the shoulder.
"Excuse me, sir," said the stewardess, "would you like a bag of peanut? Today's movie will be 'Sleepless in Seattle'".
Meuchelmörder lept up out of his seat in a blinding rage and beheaded the woman with one of his many swords.
"I HATE Meg Ryan!" exclaimed Meuchelmörder, as if somehow explaining his actions would make the passengers on the plane stop staring and assume all was well.
***
Everyone woke up the next morning in a daze. Larry woke up with a dragon breathing dragon breath into his face. "AH!!" screamed Larry.
"Don't be alarmed," said the dragon.
"Hey! Wait a minute! You're Faug!" exclaimed Larry.
"Yes," said Faug.
"I already killed you!"
"You did?"
"Yes!"
"Prove it!"
Larry proved it.
"…'Do I have to give a reason? Go ahead and kill me,' said Faug. And Larry did. It took several hours of beating, but he did. First came the skin off Faug, but Faug remained alive. Next came the head of Faug, but that only made him stronger. Lastly came out the heart of the dragon, which finally completed the killing of the dragon."
"Ohhhhh, that killing," said Faug. "I guess I'll be leaving,". Faug cowered away. Just as he did, he motioned to Larry at an impending rockslide certain to hit them both. Larry ignored it and kept walking with Jamal and the society, who were coincidentally awake and already walking.
They came to a clearing in the jungle. Below the clearing was a cliff, and leading down from the cliff was a staircase. At the bottom of the staircase were ruins of an Ancient Aztec-like city ruled by x. Larry walked up to x and x halted him. "Welcome to the city of the damned," said x. "I'm," said x, "Vincent Price," said Vincent Price. "In order to pass through, you must possess the twelve qualities of a dead forties horror star," said Vincent Price.
"Well, first of all, I'm not dead, nor am I in the forties, and lastly, I was never a movie star, and considering this is the city of the damned, I think it would be best if I ignore you and walk away," said Larry. With that, he ignored Vincent Price and walked away with the rest of the society.
"Wait! Come back!" said Vincent Price. Vincent Price got so angry that Vincent Price started speaking in tongues. "IOUREIOUFKLHDSHJFDSKJS!! FDSOIUFDSJHSDJDJHDFSJDSFHDSFJ!!!! FDKLFDSJ45LREYU!!" spoke Vincent Price. Larry, Jamal, and the rest of the society continued walking away from the city of the damned and the now somewhat irritated Vincent Price.
Abash with anger, Vincent Price removed Vincent Price's undead shoe in a fit of personification and threw it at Larry, Jamal, and the rest of the society. "Remember! I'm Vincent Price! I don't think you know who you're dealing with here!" said Vincent Price. Larry turned around.
"Considering you just told me who I'm dealing with, I'm pretty sure I know who I'm dealing with," he said.
"It wouldn't be wise to meddle with the awesome power of the undead. Those who enter the city of the damned will suffer eternal torment…forever," exclaimed Vincent Price. "In other words, they will be damned," screamed Vincent Price. "Damned like you're about to be," added Vincent Price.
"Now that I think about it, we never actually entered the city. We just looked at it and walked away, so this whole eternal torment thing doesn't really apply to us, mutha fucka!" said Jamal.
"Argh! Stop defeating me with logic," intoned Vincent Price in a very Vincent Price-like intonation. Larry, Jamal, and the rest of the society all shrugged their shoulders and left.
Twenty-four hours later, long after they had reached the point of lost hearing range, and the moon was full, and the stars were bright, and the sun was down, and night time had fallen, Vincent Price stood alone in the city of the damned and then Vincent Price screamed "I'm Vincent Price!!!" Suddenly, the rockslide fell on Vincent Price and killed Vincent Price, burying the city of the damned with Vincent Price.

V
Larry's journey had been longer than he had anticipated. Luckily, when the whole group was walking in the jungle, they saw a random train station that could take them where they wanted to be. Larry took out some money to pay for all the train tickets. "Where is it you'd like to go?"
"Let me think," said Larry. "Damn! If I could only remember the name of that island! Oh! Wait! It's called Howard."
"How many tickets would you like?"
"I'd like?-" Larry coughed, "tickets, please," said Larry.
"Ok, here are your tickets to Howard," said the man.
The train was completely full of nobody but Larry, Jamal, and the society. There was only one person who wasn't part of Larry's party.
The man sneezed and gagged, as he flipped the pages of the tattered newspaper he held in his hands, which literally had sagging fat. He had at least twelve chins and each chin must have had four or five more chins concealed within it. Larry walked up to him, nearly tripping on his two large oxygen tanks.
"I'll give you ten moneys if you get off the train at once," proposed Larry.
"Mortimer Cobblesworth sells out to nobody!" said the man. "Hello. I'm Mortimer Cobblesworth."
"Mortimer Cobblesworth, eh?" responded Larry. "That's a name of a most dignified sound."
"What's that, sonny? You'll have to speak up." Said Mortimer, cupping a hand to his gargantuan ear. He wheezed and gagged, and immediately brought a mask to his mouth, puffing in large quantities of oxygen.
"I said your name is?-"
"My name is Mortimer Cobblesworth. I'm ninety-four years old and still going str?-" Mortimer coughed and wheezed. He turned up the pressure on his oxygen tank and breathed in. "?-ong." Mortimer finished.
"I see," said Larry.
Jamal walked up to Larry. "So boss, what's the deal? I mean are we going to reciprocate or are we gonna ?- holy crap!" exclaimed Jamal as he caught sight of Mortimer. "You one ooooooold school mutha!!"
"I can recall," Mortimer began, "when I was serving in the King's-or was it the Queen's?-navy during the First Crusade. I was" Mortimer coughed, "years old and I was still…what was I talking about? Oh yes, now when I lost that dog, I followed him down to the train tracks where I found his limp body, all mangled and spangled and…wait…" Mortimer stopped to look at Larry. "Who the hell are you?"
Larry was shocked to see (or is it hear?) one so old and frail to talk to him in such a manner. He rose to his full height and intoned in a deep royal voice "I am Count Larry of Lestershire; brother and soon-to-be murderer of Duke Lester the Nth of Larryington; son of the Evil Lord Fing, Ruler of Quarter-Earth, bringer of the Apocalypse; heir of Lord Pastorius, the Lord of the Lords; and co-Lord of Jargovia. I am your ruler."
A calm female voice intoned "We are now entering Larryington. It is 3:59 PM and the temperature outside is 98°…Farenheit. Please prepare for teatime."
Mortimer scoffed, and then took some pep pills for the effort of scoffing was too much for him and he needed the pills to keep up his level of scoffage. "Now we're in Larryington, so you are no longer my ruler. I spit on you." Mortimer built up some saliva, but to Larry and Jamal's disgust he only had enough effort to release it in a large stream of drool.
"Damn young hippies with their hair and their music," mumbled Mortimer. "When I was your age I was?-spangled…spangled…what was I saying about spangled earlier? It was about the banner wasn't it? The star spangled one? Damn cannons. What's my name again?"
Jamal sighed. "I believe you said it was Mort?-"
"I know my own name, you hog-tailed varmit!" expunged Mortimer. "Damn kids these days, assume we don't even know our own names. It's Cobbler Mortersworth, confound it!"
Larry was beginning to grow tired of this Mortimer Cobblesworth. He said so. "I grow tired of you, Mortimer Cobblesworth."
"What're you gonna do about it?" sneered the ninety-four year-old wart on society's ass.
Larry promptly did something about it.
Searching through the bag of supplies he had brought, he removed two cans of nitrogen and switched them with Mortimer's two oxygen cans. Mortimer coughed as nitrogen filled his lungs. He gasped, but unfortunately for him, gasping is the act of quickly and or slowly taking in large amounts of air, so Mortimer simply hastened the killing of himself via asphyxiation. Mortimer died.
"You killed him!" exclaimed Jamal.
"It's not like he was going to be long of this Earth anyway," replied Larry.
"Point taken," described Jamal.
The female voice came on the PA again. "We have now arrived in Howard. Please enjoy you stay. Bienvenue aux Howard. Enjoy tou stay, ci vous pley."
Although that should have been the Count's first clue that something was amiss, his idiocy prevented him from realising his idiocy had been proven once again.
"Well," remarked Jamal, "that was a quick train ride, it only took one and a half pages."
"Jargovia get new train from Japan," siad Lok-Tok. "is burret train. It go very fast."
"I thought you were from China" remarked Jamal.
"Lok-Tok tired of stupid anglo questions!" replied Lok-Tok.
"Ah," said Larry.
As it turns out, Larry's first clue that something was amiss was that fact that all the men they saw were wearing black leather berets, red bandanas around their necks, had thin moustaches, wore horizontally stripped long-sleeved shirts, black sashes for belts, light blue pants, and were all puffing on at least one cigarette, and were drinking red wine with cheese. One of them was even walking a pink poodle down the street whilst rollarblading.
"Ah crap! Damn crap **** damn **** damn **** crap **** crap crap **** damn **** damn **** crap crap!" swore Larry. "This isn't Howard Isle, it's Howard Citie in France!"
Lok-Tok was puzzled. "Lok-Tok may be shithead, but Lok-Tok no fool. There nooo Howard City in France."
"Ah," said a jolly Frenchmen with a Brit accent. "That can easily be explained. You see, good fellow, they'll tore down the city and rename it Le Town Du Miserables or Louisbergue as the Nazi's will called it some fifty years from here. Does that help you?"
"Actually that explanation made no sense," admitted Larry as Jamal shot the man to death.
"Ow! You shot me!" exclaimed the man as he died.
"Yes, I suppose I did," admitted Jamal as he shot the man again.
"DAMN! You shot me once more!" screamed the corpse.
"Take this, yo franco wanco!" rapped Jamal as he shot the corpse.
"CRAP! Why do you keep shooting me?" asked the dead corpse.
"Cuz you ain't dying, yo!" shot back Jamal as he shot back.
"HOLY MOTHER OF MARY!" yelled the dead corpse which was deceased.
"Why won't you die?!" inquired Jamal as he shot the dead corpse which was deceased.
"I am now immune to bullets," announced the zombie.
Lok-Tok grew annoyed. "What matter with you, wacky brack cop? You not know how kill a man?" Lok-Tok proceeded to kill the man.
"Well," Larry pointed out once the man was dead "now we have to get to the harbour to get a boat to take us to Howard Isle in Jargovia, as opposed to Howard Citie au Francais, which we are in now."
"Yes," said Lok-Tong, who had not said much in a while due to Lok-Tok being a much funnier character to use, "I think we all realised that."
***
It was 20 o'clock in the morning when Meuchelmörder's plane finally arrived in Jargovia. As he got off the plane, Meuchelmörder made a mental note to get his watch fixed.
"Everything is coming up daisies?-or is it roses?" thought Meuchelmörder. "Whatever, things are going to be all right from here on out."
He walked up to Jargovian customs. The customs lady smiled from behind her desk. "And what might your name be?" she asked condescedingly.
"Nizza Teddy-Bär Meuchelmörder," responded Meuchelmörder. He was fatigued from the long plane ride and too tired to answer properly.
"Purpose of vist?" continued the customs lady.
"To assassinate Duke Lester the Nth."
"WHAT?"
"To assassina?-"
"Yes, I know what you said, I was merely expressing my incredulousness at such a statement."
"I see. Can I go now? I'm kind of in a bit of a hurry."
"Did you really expect that you could just march in here and announce that your going to kill the most beloved of our two rulers and expect to get away with it?"
"Well, why couldn't I?"
"WHAT?"
"Why couldn't I expect to get away with it? I am a professional assassin, after all. It's what I do, you could say."
"I'm sorry sir," said the customs lady, coming out from behind her booth, "but I'm afraid we will have to detain you until further notice whilst we check your bags."
Meuchelmörder hoped this would not take too long. He was a very impatient man.
***
"But how are we gonna get from Howard Station to Howard Harbour? Even if we hurry humourously for an hour we will never reach the harbour in an hour, even hoping to succeed we will not reach the harbour in the time needed even is homo sapiens we be not but homo superior be us in lots," alleged Jamal.
"What we need," said Larry, "is to find someway of finding someone who knows their way around the city and who has a means of transportation which will get us to our destination in the time alotted."
Conincedently, a taxi drove by, stopping in front of the rain, which had been vacated.
"Hey look, a taxi!"
Larry, Jamal, and the rest of the society got into the taxi. A man who appeared to be the driver turned around.
"Ello!" said the french taxi driver. "Elcome to Franze!"
"Wait," said Larry. "How did you know we weren't from France and spoke English?"
"Well," said the Frenchman, "you came on train, and ze only train coming ere is train from Jargo-via. But we are not propairly intorduceded. Je am Jean-Luc Pierre Dupoivre Mon Ami Avec Le Grande Fromage. Where you be going today, yeh?"
"We want to get to the harbour."
"Oui, Oui," said Jean-Luc Pierre Dupoivre Mon Ami Avec Le Grande Fromage. He turned to the man on the right side of the taxi and puffed his cigarette thrice.
"Wait?-" said Larry
"Oui?" responded Jean-Luc Pierre Dupoivre Mon Ami Avec Le Grande Fromage.
"Well?-"
"?-"
"You see?-"
"?-"
"It's about the?-"
"?-Oh, the Anglish-like Jargo-vians want to know what's up with ma crazee namê?"
"Well, actually yes. I mean, in English it literally means?-"
"Yes, we all no what eet means?-"
"?-even the part about the peppers?"
"Ezpeciallee ze part abou' ze peppairs!"
Jean-Luc Pierre Dupoivre Mon Ami Avec Le Grande Fromage paused and considered it. "It eez a loong trageec tail of louve and dezire, breasts and boobs, endless sex and meaningless decadence. Wait, that's zee historee of Franze. I apologize, little Jargo-vians no' readee for zhat storie yet. I tell you how I got ma name?-
"It waz a dark en stormy night one autumn eve-en-ing long ehgo, and ma ma and ma pa were in ze hospital like thing there, and moi had only just been born, and zey were considering names for moi.
My mothaire, she said ?'I would like to name the boy Jean.'
But my fathaire, ee was a pansy of a man, and ee say ?'Non, we name ze boy Luc.'
And ze doctaire, being also a lawyer, suggested ?'Jean-Luc' az awn acceptable comprimise.
And zhen ma mothaire, she said ?'I have always like ze name Pierre. Let eez middle name be Pierre.'
But once again ma fathaire, ee disagreed. He said ?'When I was a child, I was picked upon by ze oldair boys becauze I did not know who was friend an' ?'oo was foe. I swore then and thaire zat ma boy would ?'ave the words ?'?'mon ami'' in eez name, so zat everyone would know that ma boy woul' be theire friend.'
Oncze again, ze doctaire/lawyaire suggested zhat I ?'ave two middle names, ?'Pierre Mon Ami'. Ma parants agree to this, but ze change so that the Mon Ami parte came after the last name, Dupois. They thought that if ma nom was ?'John Luke Peter Dupois, my friend' eet would imply zhat I was a friendly person and even if I was not, it would nevairetheless imply so because every time someone would say ma name, eet would seem like they were saying I was their friend.
Now, zare eez nothing wrong with the name ?'Dupois'. But as you noticed so bilingually, ma last name, eet eez no Dupois. You see, due to a fatal accident of ze penmanship, ma last name was writteen on ze birth certificate like thing zhere as ?'Dupoivre' which means ?'of peppers'. So Ma name be, in Anglish-like way of speaking ?'John Luke Peter of peppers, my friend.'"
Jamal blinked. "What about the ?'Avec Le Grande Fromage'?"
"Oh," blanked Jean-Luc Pierre Dupoivre Mon Ami Avec Le Grande Fromage "well, zhat eez eazee to explaine. You zee, I waz once a membaire of ze FIDE, zhat eez, the Federation Internationale de Echecs?-"
"The what?" queried Larry.
"The International Federation of Chess" revealed Lok-Tok, calmly.
"?-oui," said Jean-Luc Pierre Dupoivre Mon Ami Avec Le Grande Fromage "so anayway, for a while there, there was this once Frenchamaphone like player there, and he was ze best, zo we all call him Le Grande Frommage (The Big Cheese) and for a while dere, I was his?-how I put this?-uh, bitch. So I was always said to be ?'with the Big Cheese' so aftaire awhile, it was just tacked onto ma name, like so ?'Avec Le Grande Fromage'."
"I see," nodded Larry.
"So, as I was saying, ma name eet eez Jean-Luc Pierre Dupoivre Mon Ami Avec Le Grande Fromage and this" he gestured to the man on his right "eez ma brothaire, Frank."
Hello everyone, thought Frank.
"You zee, Frank, ee eez deaf, blind, en mute."
"Oh," said Larry, who looked sorry on the outside, but laughed at Frank's misfortune on the inside. "Hey that reminds me of a record I heard once called Tomm-"
"Nothing, nothing, nevermind," Jamal coughed. He turned to Brady and Ben and whispered, "You can't say that name. It is copyrighted, remember? We already got a cease and desist order from MCA Records and The Who themselves!"
"Ah, yes," nodded Brady and Ben.
"We want to go to the Harbour, by the way," said Larry.
"Oui, you already said zat, and we are on our way, oui, oui," pointed out Jean-Luc Pierre Dupoivre Mon Ami Avec Le Grande Fromage.
"Are you sure?"
"Oui,"
"Oh."
Jean-Luc Pierre Dupoivre Mon Ami Avec Le Grande Fromage turned to face the group. "So, where are you going?"
"The harbour, I thought we just went over this?-"
"Non, you fool! I meant aftaire the harbour, where are you headed?"
"Ah, yes, well we're going to Jargovia."
"I am much confused. You say you take train from Jargovia to Franze, only to sail from Franze to Jargovia? Aye-yaye-yaye-yaye-yaye!"
Oops, the water for the tea is boiling, just a sec?-


There we go. Aaah, good old Darjeeling. Okay, where was I? Ah yes, the taxi
"Yes, well, we meant to go to a island in Jargovia called Howard so I could kill my brother and rule over his lands, but the train took us here instead," said Larry, reviewing for anyone who had forgotten after this lengthy taxi business.
"So, in othaire words, you are stupid Jargovian bastardes?"
"Well, actually, only I'm a stupid Jargovian bastard" started Larry "they're all Asian assassins of ambiguous parentage and he's a wacky black cop who, while fulfilling his role as a vehicle for Chris Tucker, has yet to provide any comic relief since if he were to provide comic relief from a comedy of this comedic magnitude, it would not really be relief but more a sort of supplement to our comedic saturation."
"Ah,"
"Wait!" screamed Jamal, "if you're turned to face us, then who is driving the car?"
"Why, Frank, of course! Zis is a European car."
"Holy ****! I thought you said he was deaf, blind, and mute!"
"He is. He is also widely regarded as a retard."
"What the frangle-dangle?" exonerated Jamal.
"Well, eet eez a complicated like system there," began Jean-Luc Pierre Dupoivre Mon Ami Avec Le Grande Fromage, "you zee Frank answairs to people by licking his lips. Ee licks once, that means ?'non'. Ee licks twice eet means ?'oui'. Because ee can only speak ?'oui' or ?'non' zhat eez why people be regarding ?'im as the retard. Now, I be doing the talking like ting to him by puffing my cigarette. I puff in morse code like ting dere, and ee smells the puffs, so naturally?-"
"Wait, why don't you drive the car yourself, instead of this complicated system?"
"I cannot get zee drivaire's liscence."
"Why not?"
"Zey cannot fit ma stupide name on zee carde!" exclaimed Jean-Luc Pierre Dupoivre Mon Ami Avec Le Grande Fromage.
"Look out for that semi!" shouted Lok-Tong.
"What?"
"We're gonna hit it!" announced Jamal.
"Oh no!" exasperated Larry.
"Damn! You no pay Red Tong yet!" said Lok-Tok.
"We're doomed!" exclaimed C-3P0.
"Bail out like!" said Jean-Luc Pierre Dupoivre Mon Ami Avec Le Grande Fromage.
They bailed into the street just in time to see the taxi and the two weird Frenchmen within hit the semi and burst into flames.
"Wow, that's a cool fireball," remarked Larry sadistically.
All of a sudden, some bicycles rode by.
"Hey, it's the Tour de France!"
Larry got a wicked grin on his face. He chuckled. And chuckled some more. And then chuckled moreso.
"What are you chuckling about, Larry?" asked Jamal with a concerned look upon his face, as Larry chuckled.
"You mean, ?'my Lord'. ?'Count' would also suffice."
"Yes, of course."
"Well?"
"Well what?"
"Repeat the question?"
"Huh?-oh! Yes, umm?-what are you chuckling about, my Lord?"
Larry looked at the lead bicycle coming down the path. A man in yellow spandex, that is the man riding the bike, was yelling "I'M WINNING! I'M WINNING! I'VE DONE IT, MOMMY!"
Larry grinned and chuckled. "I've always wanted to do this. Hand me that stick, Jamal…"
Jamal did so.
Larry took the stick and shoved it in the spokes of the bicyclist as he passed. The bicyclist was flung from his bike in a comic fashion and fell upon the ground.
"Who's gonna win now, huh, bitch?" Larry stuck his short, pathetic, ugly tongue out at the fallen champion.
A second bicyclist passed the first. He stopped at the fallen one and said, "You're lucky to have fallen now. There was a banana peel up ahead.
***
Meuchelmörder sat in detention at the Jargovian airport while the customs officers inspected his bags. He assumed it would be a long wait.
Just then, a customs officer walked in the door. "Hello, ah, Mr.?-" he checked his clipboard, " Meuchelmörder."
"Hello," replied Meuchelmörder calmly.
"Now, Mr. Meuchelmörder, according to our search your bags contain approximately?-" he checked his clipboard again, "400 weapons of minimal, medium, and mass destruction including, but not limited to, 12 swords of various descriptions, 78 arrows and 5 bows, 16 assorted firearms, 68 explosive devices ranging from hand grenades to land mines, 47 assault weapons classified by the UN Committee on Assault Weapons as 'exceptionally dangerous', 10 homemade miscellaneous blunt objects, 98 melee weapons of various type including nunchuks, sais, pointy sticks, non-pointy sticks, and 1 German weapon we can't even identify."
"I see," responded Meuchelmörder "Wait a minute! You forgot the rocket launcher! What kind of customs officer are you that you forget the rocket launcher?"
"Well, obviously a very crappy one," replied the customs officer. "Now, in order for you to get through here, we're going to have to go through each and every one of these weapons, check them off, identify them, compare them to the Jargovian Statute of Regulations Regarding Bringing Weapons in from Foreign Nations, see which ones we can let you keep and which ones we can't, and confiscate them one by one. Do you understand?"
"Yes," said Meuchelmörder. It was evidently going to be a long wait.
***
It was the finish line of the Tour de France. The bicyclists rode towards the finish line in a convincing slow motion while the Chariots of Fire theme played in the background.
All of a sudden, the man in yellow spandex came running ahead of the crowd. He ran up to the tape and crossed the finish line first.
"HA!" screamed the vindictive man. "I showed you who wouldn't win!" He got on his knees and panted. "I won!" He then suddenly had a massive asthma attack and died.

VI
Larry, Jamal, Lok-Tok, and the rest of the society continued on towards the harbour. On the way they enjoyed the sights, the sounds and the smells of Howard.
When they came to the harbour there was coincidentally a luxury cruise ship just leaving for Howard Isle, Jargovia. Since it was just leaving, Larry and the rest missed it.
"Damn!" Larry cursed everyone around him. Noting that nothing happened, he ignored his lack of divine powers and turned to the nearest ticket booth he could find.
"Yes, you there!" called one of the Red Tong assassins,

Oh so. So there is a limit on post sizes. They just don't tell you about it and cut off the bit of your post that doesn't fit. Okay then.
Let us continue then...

"Like to say yes, but no."
"HBC Rewards?"
"Bingo!"

***
Lester sat in his castle picking his teeth with dental floss and thought.
Hmmm, thought Lester.
"The evening tea, milord?"
"No thanks, Jeeves."
"My name is not Jeeves, sir."
Lester got up out of his chair and choked the butler to death with the floss. "Would it kill you to get me a butler whose name actually is Jeeves for once?" Lester paused and looked at the corpse.
"Oh, I guess it did kill you." Lester laughed at the irony.
***


Meuchelmörder was still at customs.
"Now this weapon," continued the customs officer, "is a clear violation of Section 144 of the Jargovian Statute, and is listed as a Code 16. Do you know what a Code 16 is?"
"Let me guess," replied Meuchelmörder unenthusiastically, "is something particuarly nasty?"
The customs officer checked his clipboard. "Why, yes it is!" he exclaimed. "How did you know?"
"Lucky guess?" Meuchelmörder suggested.
"No way! I don't believe you!" said the customs officer, bewildered. "Have you read this Statute before?"
"Oh God no. In fact, I was rather hoping I could go an entire lifetime without having to, but you just had to come and ruin that, didn't you?"
"Wow!" exclaimed the customs officer again. "You must be psychic!"
"No, I am not psychic."
"Do a trick for me!"
"What?"
"Will you do a trick for me?"
"No," replied Meuchelmörder, "I will not 'do a trick' for you."
"Please? Just read my mind once. Just once. I would really appreciate it."
"For the LAST time," yelled Meuchelmörder "I CANNOT and WILL NOT do you a ******* TRICK!" And with that, Meuchelmörder jumped up and strangled the customs officer to death.
Just then, an airline employee walked in. "Oh my God!" she exclaimed.
Meuchelmörder sighed, and realised this would probably detain him even further.
"Well, Mr. Meuchelmörder, this brings you up to 17 violations of Jargovian law," said the airline employee. "I'm afraid this'll simply detain you even further."
***
Larry, Jamal, and the rest of the society looked around at the sandy beaches of Howard Isle.
"Wait," asked Jamal inquisitively, "how did we get here, boss?"
Larry considered it. "Do you realise that your only purpose thus far has been to serve as a sounding board to yours truly because Lok-Tok is such a lousy conversationalist?"
"Answer the question!" threatened Jamal, as he shook his fist at Larry threateningly.
Larry sighed. "Don't you remember?" He sighed again. "We chartered a ship to Howard and the trip was delightful until we were besieged by pirates?-"
"Pirates!" exclaimed Lok-Tok.
"Yes, pirates" Larry sighed again. "You were there, remember?" Why am I surrounded by such idiocy? thought Larry commentfully. "Anyway, because most of us are Chinese assassins trained in the deadly arts of death, we managed to keep all of our belongings and jump ship. We then swam the rest?-"
"Don't forget the ten-year quest!"
"Yes, yes, fine!" Larry sighed thrice more. "We were made to go on a ten year quest for a magic pearl by the most beautiful mermen you ever saw?-"
"Oh those mermen get more beautiful every time you tell this story?-"
"Quiet you!"
"Anyway, we swam to Howard, and here we are!"
Jamal was crying. "I love that story…"
Larry and the society journeyed into the bowels of Howard. Once in the bowels, they formulated a plan to infiltrate Lester's Castle. Once they had formulated the plan, they set about infiltrating Lester's Castle.
Lester's Castle was a very large, dark and foreboding place?-for a summer home, that is.
"There it is?-" announced Lok-Tok. "Lesta's Castle."
Lighting struck twice and thunder rumbled ominously.
Lok-Tok now took command of the troupe. "Grappring hook, ready?"
"Grappring hook, ready!" replied the Red Tong Society.
Using their ?'grappring' hooks the group scaled the mountainous walls of Lester's Castle. Once upon the roof they cut through the diamond sun-roof and slid down ninja ropes into the main living area.
"Ow!" exclaimed Larry as he got rope burn, let go, and suffered a twenty feet fall to the floor. "OW! Owie, owie, owie owie!" screamed Larry. "Thank God I'm immortal!" he realised smugly.
"The current time is 7:40:57 PM," said a calm mechanical voice over a PA system, calmly.
"Damn Lester, and his obsession over time," remarked Larry.
"The current time is 7:41 PM."
"Watch out for laser defence system while we penetrate Lesta's Castle," said Lok-Tok, motioning to the thick red laser beams criss-crossing the room.
"The current time is 7:41:03 PM."
Larry, Lok-Tok, and the rest of the society traversed the lasers cautiously.
"The current time is 7:41:06 PM."
The squeaking of Jamal's NIKE shoes was clearly audible.
"The current time is 7:41:09 PM."
The squeaking stopped.
"The current time is 7:41:12 PM."
"Jamal, what are you doing?"
The current time is?-"
Suddenly there the lights started flashing red.
"Jamal, what the?-?"
"Silent alarm! Silent alarm! Intruders in Level 3. Silent alarm…"
"Sorry, boss" said Jamal as he shrugged his shoulders, "I had to tie my shoe, and while I was down, I saw a shiny red button, so I pressed it. The button must've tripped the alarm or something."
"DAMN! YOU ARE THE MOST MORONIC MORON I KNOW!" shouted Larry, even though Larry himself was the most moronic moron he knew.
"…Silent alarm! Silent al?-Please flip tape over. [click-click, whirr, click-click]. Thank You. ?-arm. Silent alarm! Silent alarm!"
Guards of all sorts, shapes, and sizes burst into the room and began attacking the Red Tong Society. Thankfully, the Society was armed with nunchuks, sais, and big pointy sticks. They quickly disposed of the guards.
The unvaliant attackers burst into the throne room and began attacking Lester.
"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL?" exclaimed Lester as the Chinese assassins began their feeble attempts at killing him. Lester caught sight of Larry. "Oh, I get it," he said calmly, sitting back down.
***
STILL at customs, Meuchelmörder's patience was wearing dangerously thin.
"What's this?" asked a customs official, holding up a battleaxe.
"A meat cleaver," replied Meuchelmörder, hoping that a false answer would get him out of here sooner.
"Oh, too bad," replied the customs official, " you see, meat cleavers are illegal in Jargovia. They have been ever since Duke Lester nearly cut his finger off with one in a cooking accident. Luckily it was only a glancing blow, and the Duke remained unharmed. You would've had more luck if you'd said it was a battleaxe or something."
"Arrgh!" screamed Meuchelmörder. "What do I have to do to satisfy you?! I can't get any of this bureaucratic nonsense right!" Meuchelmörder was poised on the edge of a nervous breakdown. "What do you want from me?!" In fact, he had just exhibited the first of the three signs that your German child is going to grow up to become a crazy murderer.
The Three Signs That Your German Child Is Going To Grow Up To Become A Crazy Murderer
1. He or she has a nervous breakdown
-Examples of a common Germanic nervous breakdown include:
a. Your German child says things like "Der Mien Schilgen Blachen!"
b. Your German child screams and kicks furniture and grows a funny little moustache
c. Your German child says things like "What do you want from me??"
2. He or she KILLS someone
3. He or she becomes a German assassin of some reknown
In fact, Meuchelmörder had done all of these things, but in completely the opposite order. So psychologists could not say he was a crazy murderer, they could only say that he was a nice teddy bear who happened to enjoy killing people for money. German scientists have a term for this, they call it inverticism.
"Hey man, it's okay," said one of the customs officials, patting Meuchelmörder on the back. "Everything's gonna be alright."
"Really?" asked Meuchelmörder, sniffing back a tear.
"Really."
"Well, okay, I guess," said Meuchelmörder, standing up.
"Now you just come with us, and listen to what we say, and follow directions, and just answer all our questions, and just go along with all of the proceedings and we'll care of you," said the customs official. "Everything's gonna be ok."
"Yeah," said Meuchelmörder, a smile forming on his face, "I mean, I'm not going to get out of here any faster, and Lester will still be there for me to kill when I get out, so I might as well be co-operative."
"Yeah, man," replied the customs official, "that's it. That's the idea. You gotta look on the bright side of things. Just laugh and smile every once and a while, and the world's a better place."
"I see what you mean," agreed Meuchelmörder, bewildered by this new perspective on life he had gained.
And so Meuchelmörder and the customs official walked into the search room, each one at peace with the universe…for a time.


***
In the midst of the battle, there was a knock at the door.
"Dominoes Pizza!"
"Excuse me, I'm trying to kill a man here!" Larry shouted back.
"Sorry! I'll come back later!"
Jamal quickly killed two guards, said a quirky black catch phrase, and then suddenly fell over and died.
"What the?-?" Larry was puzzled. "Oh, right! The antidote!"
Lok-Tok, with a look of resolve on his face, led the remaining Red Tong up to Lester. They all took out their various weapons and attacked all at once. They all dropped dead instantly.
"What the?-?" said Larry again.
Lester laughed. "My dear brother, certainly you have not forgotten the words betold us (and by us, I mean, you) the mighty dragon Faug?"
"Umm…"
Lester sighed. "You know, the gifts begifted us through the genes of our father, Evil Lord Fing?"
"Uhhh…"
Lester swore. "**** almighty, do I have to spell it out for you?"
"Well, yes…"
Lester killed one of his remaining guards in an effort to relieve stress. "To quote, and I quote ?'If one immortal kills another, then the immortal who tries to kill the other immortal will become mortal but the other immortal being killed will die, thus making them mortal. You see, as an immortal, you have one chance at killing another immortal and then you become mortal after successfully killing the immortal you seek to kill. In other words, if you killed me, you would be able to do so, but you would then be burdened with the eternal drought of being mortal. If a mortal (such as the Red Tong) attempts to kill an immortal, then the mortal(s) will parish due to non-immortality and the immortal who was sought to be cleared will gain strength.' Clear?"
Larry blinked. "Oh, I get it! Only an immortal like myself can kill an immortal like yourself!" exclaimed Larry, realizing his mistake.
"Basically, yes. But if you kill me, you will then become susceptible to killing yourself, due to your being mortal. However, I don't really see why you need to kill me. I mean, aside from my being the smarter, prettier, nicer, and generally all-around better of us (oh, and considering I do rule the bigger half of Jargovia). Oh wait, I understand perfectly now. You know, tell you the truth, I actually wanted to kill you."
"Me?" begast Larry.
"Yes."
"But, why?"
"Well, that's what I myself wondered. But as it turns out, my reasons were simple: I didn't want to share my rulership, and plus you're an ugly moronic twit and I can't stand the sight of you. But I didn't kill you because of the following reasons: (1) I would then be mortal, and who the hell would be stupid enough to want that?, and (2) you're my brother and killing you would be wrong."
Larry blinked. "Oh, I get it! Only an immortal like myself can kill an immortal like yourself!" exclaimed Larry, realizing his mistake.
"Well, yeah, but if you kill me, then you'll have killed your brother and then you'll be truly evil and also you'll be mort?-"
Larry, realizing his idiotic mistake at last, walked up to Lester and killed him.
"Wow, that was easy!" exclaimed Larry.
Larry sat upon his brother's throne, and realized that at long last, he was the one, the only, the Lord of the Lords.
To celebrate, he called back the Dominoes Pizza guy and gorged himself on the cheesy goodness.
But little did he realize that Lord Fing was plotting…a hidden agenda!

Part the Third
Part The Third

Introduction

"What's this? A hidden agenda?" shouted the Head Druid, Qz.
"Yes, pa, but the only thing I could have done was hide it!" replied Qz's son.
"Well, why did you?"
"The other kids at school would have laughed at me, knowing I kept an agenda," pouted the boy.
"Well, you should have told me at the least," said Qz. "But you mustn't have kept an agenda anyways. They are rather effeminate and ever since finding out about your hidden agenda I have begun to think you are homosexual," accused Qz.
"I'm not homosexual!" screamed the boy.
"It's ok if you are, son, but please, hide your homosexuality from the rest of the world and let it build up inside of you until you finally implode and turn into a walking minion of the fags," advised Qz.
"But I'm not homosexual!" exclaimed the boy in anger.
"Now, son, there's nothing wrong with being a homosexual," said Qz.
"I know! But I'm not one!"
"What can I do to ward you away from homosexuality? Want me to buy you some exotic dancers? Do you want a car? Is that it? A car? Hmm?" asked Qz, starting to sound desperate.
"Well, my birthday is coming up," said the boy, whose brain alit with a devious plan. "Coming up indeed."
"Yes," said Qz.
"Can you buy me an extravagant piece of jewellery like Lucy's daddy bought her?"
"I'll get you the most prestigious jewellery. Finer than Lucy's pompous jackass father could ever afford," said Qz, beginning to evilitise his dialogue in a deceitful change of character resulting in a possible insinuation of foreshadowing.
"What about that magical jewellery Lester gave you?" asked the boy.
"That piece of jewellery is too valuable, son. How did you find out about it anyways?"
"I guessed."
"Ah. Well, go to bed now."
"But it's only six-thirty!"
"Did I not just catch you with a hidden agenda?"
"Fine," said the boy, as he stormed away into Bedhouse A.
"What a wonderful father I am," thought Qz. "Wonderful indeed."

It was midnight. Qz was sleeping. A knock came about on his door. "Who is it?" asked Qz.
"It's your son," said Qz's son.
"What the hell do you want, son?" asked Qz.
"I cannot sleep, father. Tell me a bedtime story, dammit!"
"Fine," said Qz, getting out of bed. Qz walked over to the door and took the teleportation device over to his son's bedhouse. When there, Qz sat down on his son's bed.
"Tell me about that magical jewellery," said the boy.
"I don't know that much about it, son," said Qz.
"Then tell what it is you know," said the boy.
"All right," sighed Qz. It was going to be a long night.

I: The Big Long Story that Deserves to be More than One Chapter
Thousands of Millenniums of Centuries ago…

"The storms were getting fiercer. "It cant't be?-is Fing growing stronger? How can I harness the magicka of Fing? Could I? Let me think," thought the doctor as he pondered his query. "Designing such a device would be back-bendingly barbaric! What wonders one would work under to conceive a witty whimsical wonder! Can I do it?"
The alarm on the doctor's desk buzzed. "Dr.Zip-Zap-Zee, you have a patient," it said.
"Send dear Sammy into my study," said Zip-Zap-Zee, taking a puff of his burning sleeve. A man walked into the room, hardly worth looking at.
"Doctor!" exclaimed Sammy.
"What is it, Sammy? Did you find a cure for your frantic phases of figurative cackling? Did you merely meekly make your mind up and sadly sweetly cure yourself of imperfections?"
"No, Doctor."
"Then why are you taking my time and tediously tarnishing my tender spirit? Did you ask another doctor to awesomely arise your utter insolence? Or are you just a fruit cup?"
"Doctor, I came to tell you something to your advantage!" shouted Sammy.
"Then tell me, already!" said Zip-Zap-Zee.
"Do you really want to know?"
"I curiously await your conundrum of a 'cure', you call it. Can you, can you, I say, can you call it a cure?"
"No, I can't. But it brings fortune to use both!"
"Fabulous, Sammy! Years I've yearned that Sammy sends a sufficient store of money for Zip-Zap-Zee," said Zip-Zap-Zee.
"Well, I came up with an idea the other day," said Sammy.
"What is this idea?" asked Zip-Zap-Zee.
"I found a way to harness Fing's power! I designed the perfect contraption! I have the designs right in my jacket, and I haven't told anybody yet, and I haven't made another copy, and literally not a soul except me (and now you) is aware! I'll pull it out of my pocket?-"
"No need to pull your plans from your pocket," said Zip-Zap-Zee. "I grow jealous of your super-fabular-dip-dap-danular contraption!" with that, Zip-Zap-Zee took about some needles and poked them into Sammy. The needles acted as a physical effect, however, and were filled with nothing, so Zip-Zap-Zee pulled out an Uzi and slayed what was left?-which was all?-of Sammy, and removed the plans. "Now we'll see who the doctor is!" screamed Zip-Zap-Zee, but then stopped himself because he realised he was a doctor and was talking redundantly.
"I'll call it Dr.Zip-Zap-Zee's Marvellous Mystical-Dip-Dap-Cynical?-I mean Cystical Contraption of Wonders," he said.
The day passed. Another day passed.
"Dr. Zip-Zap-Zee, you have a new apprentice," said the buzzer voice box.
"Ah, send the apprentice in," said Zip-Zap-Zee, who, after thinking about the contraption and becoming evil himself, had lost his witty alliteration skills.
A lanky kid of unknown mental capacity walked into the room and coughed. "Hello," he said.
"Hello to you too," said Zip-Zap-Zee. "What is your name?"
"Linus," said Linus.
"Do you have a last name, Linus?"
"Yes."
"Can you tell me it?"
"I am Linus Mannohneletztennamen," said Linus.
"German, are you?"
"Yes. I'm German and Druish," said Linus.
"Ah," said Dr. Zip-Zap-Zee. "Well, I don't like you."
"Why not?"
"You're a prick and a smartass. You see, I happen to speak German."
"Very well then," said Linus, as he left. He noticed a blueprint on the floor, and picked it up. Obviously, Dr. Zip-Zap-Zee never noticed because if he did, he would have made a mental note to kill Linus.

Linus got home that night and sighed. "I need a job," said Linus. "Nothing ever goes good for me. Hey, wait a minute!" shouted Linus as he realised that he should have looked at that blueprint a long while back. Linus looked at the blueprint:

Property of Sammy Dr.Zip-Zap-Zee
The Patented Patent for
Dr.Zip-Zap-Zee's Marvellous Mystical-Dip-Dap-Cynical?-I mean Cystical Contraption of Wonders

[Mechanical drawing of a piece of jewellery]

With the power of Figure 1, we can obviously see that it will harness Evil Lord Fing's power and be able to one day defeat him.

Linus looked up from the paper. "Do you know what this means?" asked Linus. Nobody responded simply because nobody was there. "Gee, I'm such a lonely bastard," said Linus. Nobody replied.
The next morning Linus went to the market to pick up some materials with which to build this mysterious magical piece of jewellery.
***
Linus returned four hours later to find an assassin wearing a black outfit in his room. "Who are you?" shouted Linus.
"Muahaha," said the assassin. "I am a old friend?-muahaha," said the man, curving his pinky finger over his ear.
"No, you've got it wrong," said Linus. "It's the mouth,"
"Don't defy me, you?-evil?-defier?-person," said the man.
"Who are you?"
"Dr. Zip-Zap-Zee," said the man.
"Really? You're Dr. Zip-Zap-Zee?"
"Dammit! I must've answered unconsciously. Forget I said that. I'm not used to this whole stealth thing where people have to believe that you are one of those people with one of those creepy one-word names like Cellmate 1138 or something along those lines.
"What are you here for?" asked Linus.
"To kill you," said Zip-Zap-Zee.
"To kill me? Isn't the story a bit heavy on the assassination? Couldn't Ben or Brady have thought of a more creative way of killing me off?"
"Well, you see, I was never instructed by Ben to kill you."
"What about Brady?"
"I wasn't instructed by him, either."
Linus gasped. "You're ROGUE!"
"That I am," nodded Zip-Zap-Zee silently.
Linus gasped and looked like he had a deep concentrating look on his face. "But that means you're rogue!" he said again.
"Yes," approved Zip-Zap-Zee without moving his left leg whatsoever.
"How'd you do it?"
"I simply showed here without any reason or rhyme,"
"Rhyme or reason?-"
"Whatever the **** the case may be, whenever a character does something that doesn't make sense it automatically makes them rogue. I read that in the secret manuscript of the Hobbit. Did you know that Frodo was rogue all along?"
"Frodo wasn't a functioning character in the Hobbit, though,"
"Well, maybe it was the Silmarillion," replied Zip-Zap-Zee.
"No, that can't be it?-"
"I already told you! WHATEVER THE **** THE CASE MAY BE!"
"It must have been another book which I have seemingly forgotten the title of," said Linus. Zip-Zap-Zee stood there waiting for Linus to move the plot along. "I have a secret." There it went.
"What is that?"
"It's a trick to get you to say something," said Linus, who had concocted a plan a few minutes earlier and was carrying it out, but I purposely withdrew it from you, the reader.
"And what is that?"
"Activate."
"Activate?"
"Yes, activate," replied Linus.
"Activate what?"
"Nothing in particular," said Linus, as he threw a voice-activated (hence the activate) grenade-like exploding device on the floor shaped like a peanut.
"Did you expect me to die?" asked Zip-Zap-Zee.
"Well, quite literally, yes," said Linus. "Sorry. Let me dust you off."
"No hard feelings," said Zip-Zap-Zee, as a tear streamed down his face.
"What's the matter?" asked Linus.
"It's just that I try so hard to make myself noticeable and distinguishable and it hurts sometimes that people wish I die," said Zip-Zap-Zee.
"Well, are you really surprised and hurt? After all, you were the one trying to kill me," said Linus.
"Well, no, honestly, but still, I, being a doctor, and, being evil as well, I find it hard to not succeed, and, as you may clearly see, am quite conceited due to my perfectious ways," said Zip-Zap-Zee.
"Ah," said Linus, who began to grow tired of Zip-Zap-Zee.
"Now, I seek those plans you stole from me,"
"Never!"
"Never what?"
"I'll never give you the plans!"
"Why not?"
"Because."
"Because why?"
"Because I'm a pompous prick who wants to steal your work and reap the benefits."
"Ah."
"Quite."
"Well, since I'm standing here, and you're standing there, and you seemingly have the vantage point to?-"
"To what?"
"To?-"
"Oh, for the love of god, just spit it out!"
"Too?-"
"Why are you doing this?"
"To produce some climatic dialogue in this rather dry scene…now where was I? Ah, yes: to?-"
Linus paused and decided to let the baby have its bottle.
"Kill me," said Zip-Zap-Zee.
"Kill you?"
"Yes…you're planning on killing me, aren't you?"
"Well that seems like a worthy plan. All I need is motive," said Linus.
"This whole scene has been about motive!"
"What are you talking about? This isn't a scene! It's real life!"
"Ah…you see, being the rogue that I am, I have the ability to go ahead in time and see what happens."
"All right, then. Can you tell me what's going to happen a few seconds form now?"
"I could, but I don't wanna," said Zip-Zap-Zee, defensively. He paused. A few seconds passed. A bird flew in from a window.
"Did you know that a bird was going to fly in from the window?" asked Linus.
"I know as much as your mom 'knows' to your father," said Zip-Zap-Zee. Linus paused.
"I don't get your pun."
"Just give it a few seconds."
Linus gave it a second, then chuckled. "Hey, that's mean!"
"Well I am evil, aren't I, you twit?"
"Yes."
"Then gosh-darn-damn there you have it!"
"I'm growing bored of our conversation. Can I move on to killing you yet?"
"Not quite yet; the manuscript says we have five more lines after this line of talking…five lines starting precisely after I am done saying this exact phrase," said Zip-Zap-Zee.
"Five lines?"
"Yes. Five lines."
"How do we count?"
"By counting."
"Ah." Linus counted. "Time to kill you!"
"Yes. Now, I must warn you, I might try to resist you."
"Well no ****," said Linus.
Linus walked over to Zip-Zap-Zee and kicked his knee in, immediately handicapping the already mentally handicapped cretin. "I loathe your presence," said Linus.
"I as well."
"You loathe your own presence?"
"No."
"Well you just said that."
"No, no, no?-I meant I loathe your presence as well," responded Zip-Zap-Zee.
"Well you could have just said that the first time!"
"Well I thought that you were of the proper intelligence to decipher what I said as a comeback!"
"I am so of worthy intelligence!"
"Are you really?"
"I'm not sure…am I?"
"I don't think so."
"Are you just stalling me?"
"I'm not sure…am I?"
"I'm not sure…are you?"
"I said I wasn't sure!"
"How the hell was I supposed to know that it doesn't take me two times to say something to you to get it right? Read our dialogue above!"
"I have! I'm rogue dammit!"
"Rogue?"
"Yes, rogue."
"When are you going to kill me?"
"In a second."
"I will kill you shortly."
"You will?"
"Yes. Shortly."
"What's with all the half-assed responses?"
"I'm not sure?-"
Linus pushed in Zip-Zap-Zee's other knee, handicapping him further.
"You already know I know that I'm going to die! Why'd you handicap me further?"
"Because I can't kill you if I don't kill you," said Linus.
"That was a completely redundant statement," replied Zip-Zap-Zee.
"And so was that," trepidated Linus in a misuse of the English language.
"So was that!"
"And that!"
"This is going nowhere."
"Only because you made it go nowhere!"
"Who said that?"
"You did!"
Linus sighed and punched Zip-Zap-Zee. "That hurt!"
"Of course it did…and I'm Woody Allan!"
Linus lit Zip-Zap-Zee on fire. Nothing happened except for Zip-Zap-Zee's combustion. Linus was surprised how Zip-Zap-Zee didn't die. Linus took a sword out and sliced Zip-Zap-Zee up to little bits and stomped up and down on them. He then lit the bits aflame. He then took the ashes of the bits and sacrificed their essence to his god in order to wash away the spirit of Zip-Zap-Zee. Linus then took the ashes down to the shore [he lived in a villa on the plutonian shores (which makes no literal sense)]. Linus took his boat out and spread the ashes into the lowest depth of the lowest part of the lowest ocean. He then sent some water-resistant napalm (forty four-hundred-forty-pound drums) down to the bottom and detonated it, being sure to cover his eyes to protect himself.

Linus woke up a few hours later in his villa. "Ow, my eyes hurt," he said ironically. Linus realised he had to build that invention Dr. Zip-Zap-Zee had invented. This was all for no apparent reason. Linus built it.

A Short While After…
There was a knock at the door. Linus walked over and opened it. "Good morning, Linus," said the short man.
"Oh my god! A druid!" barked Linus, even though he was a druid himself.
"Okay," said the druid. "What's gotten into you?"
"Well, I'll tell you one thing: I certainly haven't been abusing the substances over there…and that marijuana in that cupboard…that's…medicinal…and what's this? How dare you accuse me of killing a crazy doctor!"
"I never accused you of anything…In fact, I didn't even say hello."
"Ah," said Linus, apparently forgetting his unconscious confession.
"Anyways," coughed the druid. "We need your help. May I come in?"
"Certainly. Just let me clean up the bloodstains. Wait out here for a second," said Linus, as he impolitely shut the door, which closed with a dull thud. The druid was ******* pissed.
Linus opened the door about ten minutes later, surprised to find the druid had left. "Oh well. If it was important he'll come back later." And with that, he closed the door and waited.

An even moreso short while later…
There was another knock at the door. Linus walked over and opened it. "Good morning, Linus," said the short man.
"Oh my god! A druid!" barked Linus, even though he was a druid himself.
"Okay," said the druid. "What's gotten into you?"
Linus suddenly remembered what had happened earlier. "Absolutely nothing," he said. "Please do come in."
The druid walked in.
"It has come to our attention," said the druid, "that Evil Lord Fing," continued the druid, "has," said the druid, "lots of?-," paused the druid, "power?-," said the druid, "power we seek to have," concluded the druid.
"And how do I come into the picture?"
"You see, the ADA, or Alleged Druid Association, also known as the SPCA, or the So-Called Protective Cult of Alleged Druids, has voted your name in their annual PWDSFLF form, also known as the Person We Druids Seek to Fulfill our Latest Fad Form, to make you the soul person to design a whimsical and magical device for us. The latest fad is WMD, also known as Whimsical Magical Device. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"We want you to capture Fing's power and mould it into a magical item of some fancy," said the druid. "We will pay you for such a thing."
"Interesting."
"What's interesting?"
"I have this old thing in my closet that is supposed to do the exact same thing," said Linus, taking the magical piece of jewellery out of his closet and presenting it to the druid.
"Interesting," said the druid.
"What's interesting?"
"The interesting thing about this piece of jewellery is?-yoink!" shouted the druid, as he grabbed the WMD out of Linus's grasp and ran out of the villa. Linus ensued.
"I'll get you!" screamed Linus. "You didn't pay me!"
"Well, what're you 'gonna do about it?" asked the druid, as he kept running. Down and around the streets of the town they ran. Linus even pushed an old lady with a carriage over into a lake. The druid stepped on the lady. Logically this made no sense seeing as how the druid was ahead of Linus. Linus caught up and took the WMD back.
"I'm going to curse this piece of jewellery forever!" said Linus, as he took out his handy-dandy hand-held pocket laser-inscribing device and inscribed a mean German slur into it. "There."
"What does it mean?"
"You'll never know! AHAHAHAH," shouted Linus. The druid saw this as an opportunity to get away. He grabbed it once again out of Linus's hands and started running. A few hours later, long after Linus had been out of distance, the druid stopped at the druid base.
"Fellow brethren! I've returned with the WMD!"
"Hooray!" shouted the fellow druids in agreement.
"Unfortunately, that little bastard of a man Linus inscribed a German slur of some sort into the back of it," said the druid. "Does anybody know how to read German?"
"No," they all said.
"DAMMIT! The secret will remain ambiguous forever!" shouted the druid. "But hey?-at least we didn't have to pay him!"

A little while later Linus heard knock on the door. It was that little druid again. "Would you like to convert to Druidism?"
"No, I'm sorry. I'm an agnostic."
"What's that mean?"
"It means get the hell out of my face!" shouted Linus. He shooed the druid away.
About thirty minutes later there was another knock on the door. It was the druid?-again. "Are you sure you don't want to convert to Druidism?"
"Yes!" screamed Linus, starting to get annoyed. "Besides, I already AM a Druid of the Germanic Orthodox Druids Sect."
"Well would you at least like to buy a book on Druidism?"
"God no!" shouted Linus.
"Fine then," said the Druid, as he left.
Another hour later, there was another ring of the doorbell. Linus burst out with a shotgun. "Damn you Druids and your Druish ways!" It wasn't a Druish man. It was Zip-Zap-Zee.
"I thought I killed you!" exclaimed Linus.
"I thought so too. Then I remembered I was rogue and the rules don't apply to me," said Zip-Zap-Zee.
"Well could you please just leave me alone and not badger me? You have no more use to the plot."
"Fine," said Zip-Zap-Zee, storming out. " said Qz.

II
Lord Fing had finished plotting his new agenda. He had kept this agenda hidden from all, so you could say it was a hidden agenda. In other words, Lord Fing had been plotting a hidden agenda!
But in order for his new plot to work, he would have to move quickly.
***
Qz finished telling the story. Morning had come. Was it really that long of a story? His son had started off to school, and since it had been a long night, Qz was feeling rather fatigued.
***
Fing moved quickly. Well, to be honest, he moved as quickly as a three-foot tall twenty-three-year-old with a walker could, which obviously wasn't that fast. Well?-if there were a competition that compared all the three-foot tall twenty-three-year-olds with walkers, Fing would finish among the top ten. Maybe twenty. All right, so maybe Fing couldn't finish the race at all. Fine?-Fing wasn't moving fast at all. So what?
Fing's plan was simple. He would march over to Jargovia and diminish what he could of Larry and Lester. He wasn't aware of Lester's death. Maybe another better plan would arise. Maybe a more worse one would arise. Either the case, Fing wanted to open up a can of whoopass.
"This is the way I walk through the woods, walk through the woods, walk through the woods; this is the way I walk through the woods, trying not to die!" sang Fing gleefully. He really was in a good mood. He had been journeying for a long time. Suddenly he came upon a house. Was he in Jargovia already?
***
Being as fatigued as he was, Qz decided to lie down on the bed and take a nap. He hoped nobody would knock on the door and interrupt it.
***
Fing walked up to the house and knocked on the door.
***
Qz heard a knock at the door but made no effort to get up and answer it.
***
"Hello?" someone answered at the door Fing had knocked on.
***
Qz was relieved Fing wasn't at his particular house.
***
"Hello!" said Fing joyously. "Is this Jargovia?"
"Not that I know of," said the lady.
"Hmph." Fing kept walking. If he wanted to find Larry and Lester, the key was finding somebody who knew where to find them. Or he could just find them in the first place. Yes, that would certainly cut out the middleman. Fing didn't see a point in middlemen. "Middlemen," he would say, "are pointless."
Fing came upon another house. The door was creaked open about three and nine-sixteenths of a quarter of an inch. He walked inside. There was a tired old man lying down on a bed.
"Wake up, tired old man lying on bed" thought Fing. "Hey, that'd be a cool thing to say out loud."
"Wake up, tired old man lying on bed," said Fing. The old man didn't reply. He was obviously too fatigued. Fing noticed something shiny on one of the man's body parts. "Wow, hey, a fork!" said Fing. Fing grew tired of the old man's presence, even though he wasn't doing anything or making any noises. Fing decided to stab the man to death with the fork.
Fing moved onto the next house and found another man laying on a bed with a shiny object lying beside the bed. "Hmm…a magical piece of random jewellery," said Fing, who picked it up. "This is too special for an average person to have. I'm keeping this for myself." Fing beheaded the man, who actually turned out to be Qz this time. "Well, that was simple," thought Fing. "Why yes it was!". "I still don't quite understand what was worth killing that man for," he continued. "Well, you see, something inside of you is telling you that the thing you are now holding in your hand may be able to possibly double your power. You need'nt worry about Larry and Lester from now on. This jewellery can do ALL your bidding." Fing chuckled. What a devious plan.
***
Qz's son came home that evening. It was his birthday. Of course, Qz had arranged a big extravagant birthday party. Interestingly enough, Qz's son didn't notice his father's corpse on the bed. I guess it was for the better. I mean, who would want a birthday party to be ruined by a meaningless murder?
As the situation worked out, it turned out Fing was still there, so he acted like a guest and figured nobody would be the wiser. During the party, Fing stood alone in the closet of one of the bedrooms and tried to figure out how to work the magical piece of jewellery. He had no clue whatsoever.
"This thing is useless," he said aloud. "What's the point of having a magical piece of jewellery that can double your power if you can't figure out how to use it?" Fing gave up. He left the closet.
The party was indeed very extravagant. There were clowns and pony rides; concessions and fountains; not to mention the I've Been At Qz's Son's Birthday Party t-shirts being sold out in the Qz's Son's Birthday Party Gift Shoppe. Fing felt so out of place. Suddenly the lighting dimmed.
"Attention everyone," said the PA system. "It is now gift time."
"Hmm…" thought Fing. "I have to get rid of this jewellery if it means nothing to me, and I have to get rid of it fast."
"That's right, people! Gift-giving time has arrived!"
"If only there were some way I could give this jewellery to somebody without seeming conspicuous…"
"The gift giving ceremony will be held in the Tropicana Gift-Giving Tent shortly."
"Damn, Tropicana orange juice is delicious."
"Are you not getting it? THE GIFT-GIVING CEREMONY IS TAKING PLACE!!!"
"Maybe I can gift it! But to whom?"
"Qz's Son's gift-giving ceremony will be taking place if anyone has not heard me yet."
"Qz's son, eh," thought Fing. "Would the son like the jewellery?"
"YES! Now just hurry up and get into the ******* tent!"
"What?"
"Nothing."
Fing laughed at the plan. It was the most devious thing Fing had ever thought of. Well, second most devious.

III
"Welcome to the Tropicana orange juice gift-giving ceremony," said the man at the front of the room. "Gifts will be given in alphabetical order by name of the giver. The ceremony will take approximately one hour."
"An hour of this crap? I can't stand it!" said Fing. He walked up to Qz's son and gave him the magical piece of jewellery. "Merry birthday, or whatever the **** people say around here," said Fing as he stormed out.
Fing didn't know that by officially gifting the jewellery to Qz's son after Qz was dead, he had just completed the prophecy, making Qz's son a new Head Druid.

IV
The last little while for Larry had been amusing in some very amusing ways. Since Lester was dead, Larry was now truly the one and only Lord of the Lords. One of the first things Larry did while in power was have make slaves make him a big huge castle in Lestershire, eminent among the completely ineminent hills of Jargovia. According to Larry, it was his own idea, but deep down inside everybody knew it was an exact copy of Lester's old castle. You see, even though Larry was jealous of Lester, he still admired him in many ways. One of which was castles.
Larry was sitting in a chair pondering. "What an interesting tale this has been. Could it get any more exciting?"

Meanwhilst…
Meuchelmörder sat waiting at Jargovian customs. Still. After this whole amount of time, Meuchelmörder was still contained in the tiny little open-roofed airport. A man walked up to him. "Excuse me…are you Meuchelmörder?"
"Why, yes I am," said Meuchelmörder, who was getting ticked because this whole time the customs knew his name was Meuchelmörder. "Why do you ask?"
"I have some good news," said the man.
"And what would that be?"
"Your name is not on the no-fly list."
"It isn't?"
"Nope."
"And the whole time you thought it was?"
"Yep."
"How?"
"We were looking at the name Der Nizza Teddy-Bär Meuchelmörder. You said quite clearly that you were simply Nizza Teddy-Bär Meuchelmörder, and the airport of Jargovia and his Lordship deeply and sincerely apologize for this ****-up," said the man.
"You're forgiven," said Meuchelmörder, anew with energy.
"You see, Der Nizza Teddy-Bär Meuchelmörder is some assassin from Germany who was sent here to assassinate a royal figure, but since you said you weren't him, I am under the assumption that you are an average person with no evil intentions whatsoever. You can take a courtesy car to wherever it is you want to go," said the man.
"Yes, I'd like to go to Lestershire," said Meuchelmörder. You see, Meuchelmörder was instructed to kill Lester, and, being that there was a town named Lestershire, he could only assume the royal figure he was hired to assassinate lived there.
The car ride was rather short.





The car pulled up to Larry's castle in Lestershire. Meuchelmörder shot the driver with a spear gun to avoid the fee and got out. He walked to the gates. There was a lone guard at the front.
"Welcome to Lestershire," said the guard. "Do you have an appointment?"
"You could call it that," said Meuchelmörder in an insinuating tone.
The guard sneered at Meuchelmörder. "Even so, you must prove yourself a worthy person in the face of the Lord by completing three skill-testing questions. If you succeed?-"
"Screw you," said Meuchelmörder as he shot the man and proceeded to walk into the castle.
Basically, the castle was an exact replica of Lester's home in Howard.
"The current time is 12:00 noon," said a voice coming from a speaker placed conveniently above him.
Meuchelmörder laughed at the tasteless taste Larry had. He could totally tell Larry tried to make the place look classy, but as a cosmopolite, Meuchelmörder could totally tell Larry tried to make the place look classy.
"The current time is 12:00 noon," repeated the voice.
"Is there something wrong with that annoying clock thing?" thought Meuchelmörder, as he continued to walk down the long, narrow hallway with the beige tile flooring. The green walls added a nice contrast. Some rather nice painting hung on the walls as well. What a shame?-it was too bad Meuchelmörder was going to beat the living **** out of Larry.
Meuchelmörder stepped on a button, which sounded an alarm. "Here we go," he said as he took out a rocket launcher just in time for the guards to come without having an advantage. Meuchelmörder shot at one of the hundreds of guards a small rocket.
The guard blew to bits. And so did the one next to him. As well the one to his next. And so forth.
"That was simplistic," said Meuchelmörder heartlessly. He advanced to a room with the words His Lordship on it.
"The current time is 12:00 noon," said the device.
"Oh, for the love of god!" shouted Meuchelmörder.
There was a man sitting in the desk in the room. "Are you Lester?" asked Meuchelmörder.
"No, I am not."
"I don't believe you."
"Well, you don't have to; I'm telling the truth," replied Larry.
"I'm tired of your games! I haven't been sitting in Jargovian customs forever, just to finally get out and not KILL someone. So I'm just going to assume your Lester, since it will be more convenient for me to do so."
"Okay…"
"Isn't it interesting," said Meuchelmörder figuratively, "how a cat can only chase a mouse as fast as the mouse can run?"
"Well, that's not really interesting, it's just completely senseless?-"
"You see, the mouse is perceived as the prey. But I?-I perceive the cat as the hunter," said Meuchelmörder.
"That isn't unlike the former?-"
"Well, maybe I got it mixed up, but the point is that a mouse can defeat a cat with only one paw."
"Huh?"
"There's an old saying that goes like this: every once in a while there is a mouse that outruns a cat and then fries the cat's god forsaken flesh in oil and then makes meat out of it, making sure to get all the meat. The moral is, you can't catch vinegar with flies. You much catch flies with flies."
"Where are you going with this?"
"A lie can only be a lie if the person telling the lie is lying," said Meuchelmörder. "Otherwise, it is not a lie."
"What are you getting at?"
"You smell like cheap perfume."
"What?"
"Nothing. Just playing mind games," chuckled Meuchelmörder.
"Is that what all this has been, mind games?" asked Larry, enraged.
"Only in you mind, they were."
"What?"
"But seriously?-Me and you are not so different, you and I."
"What?"
"We have similarities."
"What would they be?"
"Well, you know that feeling you get when you hear somebody coming up behind you and do you know whether or not they are going to club you with a razor-sharp wooden bat?" Larry nodded suspensefully. "Well, I get that feeling too," he continued. "Have you ever danced with the devil in the pale moonlight?"
"Not that I know of."
"Do you want to come out to play?"
"Not really."
"Well, heaven is only one step away," said Meuchelmörder. "Or hell."
"I don't understand."
"Well, in order to understand, you must completely understand me."
"I seriously don't get what you're saying. Please stop badgering me!"
"I'm not badgering you!"
"Then what are you doing?"
"I'm hounding you."
"Well, what's the difference?"
"They are two completely different species?-oh, who am I kidding?"
"What?"
"Do you remember the tale between Tommy and Bo?"
"Not that I'm aware of."
"Well, in a nutshell, Bo killed Tommy," said Meuchelmörder.
"Ah, I get it," said Larry. "I'm Bo?"
"No, Lester. You're Tommy."
Meuchelmörder shot Larry in the head. Larry slumped down in his chair and hit his head on the corner of the Ikea stainless-steel La Poubelle. Dead. For sure.
Meuchelmörder looked around the room and licked his lips. "Man, I could really go for some Tropicana orange juice."

Part the Fourth
Part the Fourth
I
In between the time Larry killed Lester and when Larry was killed by Meuchelmörder, Larry had somehow managed to conceive a child named Larry II, the third-generation heir to the Jargovian Throne of Jargovia.
You'd think that after the death of a major royal figure, a government would be at complete unrest over the situation and have no leadership whatsoever and descend into chaos. Well, if you thought that?-you were wrong.
The death of Larry was widely regarded as what newspaper writers called "The Greatest Gift Man Could Receive".

Death of hated politician ironically removes governmental unrest Sally Smith
The citizens of Jargovia and neighbouring nations anti-mourned the assassination of a royal figure earlier this week in what Times Magazine is calling the biggest event since wrinkle-free slacks. John Pickles, the leader of the EPHU [pronounced eph-u] clan of Jargovia [Eutonian Priory of Huterite Unions] stated in an anonymous interview this morning, "Join my cult".
The remaining low-ranking government officials are saying the death of Lord Larry, Formerly Count Larry of Lestershire, will affect the country's deathly low economy and boost it ten fold. Will this be good for the nation? Does it mean more jobs and less unemployment? Well, obviously yes.
Later this week, get full coverage of the situation as it unfolds.

Tomorrow: "Study shows that 65% of students aged 14-45 participate in illegal lawn bowling activities".

"Hmm…without Larry, the government is rather prosperous," said one of the low-ranking government officials during a meeting on deciding what to do about it.
"Quite," responded another low-ranking official. You know what? From now on, to avoid confusion between who's talking, I'll make up random characters and sporadically introduce them as the dialogue evolves.
"What shall we do?" asked Bob.
"I think we should hold an election and elect a new leader…like a prime minister!" said Bobo.
"You mean, a democratic government?" asked Pete.
"Exactly," said Bob.
"Where do I fit in?" asked Peter.
"You don't," responded Elmer, as he nodded respectfully at Bob and Bobo.
"Ah," said Peter.
"We'll hold an election later this week."

***
"Hello, and welcome to the prime minister election of Jargovia." The crowd cheered. "Seeing as how this isn't a debate, and there are no running candidates, my only serving purpose is to invite anybody who is interested in running for prime minister." A few people jumped. "Good day," said the man, as he walked off the stage. There was a sudden general murmur within the crowd. Suddenly a drunken bald Canadian with a big nose sprang out of his mother's lap and screamed "Hey? Wouldn't it be fashionable if a chap like I campaigned for the governmental position of primary minister?" The crowd remained silent. "?-Eh?" suddenly the crowd cheered. Now that John A. Macdonald was running for 'primary' minister, George Washington wanted a piece of the pie.
George Washington, who was coincidentally there but hadn't said anything prior to John A. Macdonald's uproarious speech due to a lack of motivation, sprang out of his mother's lap and shouted "Hello fellow brethren! Ye must taketh thy opportunith from thou and reign overeth thee!" he shouted. There were a few claps and a cough, but mostly 'huh?'s and "what that be?'s from the crowd. That did it.
A man stood up after taking a sip of his tea. "I," said the man, "Sir Robert Walpole, declare my running for primary minister as well." Since the crowd had evidently seemed to like John the best, Robert got a little ticked and started to break dance. The crowd started to favor him more, but not until George Washington took out an axe and walked over to a tree.
"Hey, everybody! Look at me! I'm chopping down a cherry tree!" the crowd turned their heads in amusement.
"Not on my watch!" screamed Macdonald, who began to vomit. This attracted the most attention.
"Shoo-bee-doo-bee-dah-bah-dee-bah-doo!" shouted Walpole in a fit of competitiveness.
Vladimir Lenin suddenly appeared out of nowhere. "Luke at mee, uveryone! I have pointy beard!" Nobody turned to look at him. "Oh," complained Vladimir moanfully, as he turned around walked away. George Washington took his axe and thew it through the air at Vladimir's head. Strangely, it bounced off his carefully waxed head and hit an audience member, who died on the spot.
Walpole decided to break out in a humorous fashion and do animal impressions."Moo?-Me-ow?-Roof-Roof?-Cockle-doodle-doo?-Neigh-Neigh-Neigh?-Oink-Oink?-Quack-Quack?-"
George Washington sprung up and pointed his finger in an exclamatory pose. "I will not, nay, cannot tell a lie!"
"?-Ooo-ooo-a-a-a!?-"
"It's funny 'cause he's acting like a monkey," said a voice from the crowd.
"It's even funnier 'cause he's a human!" exclaimed Macdonald.
"It's funniest 'cause he's a human acting like a monkey!" pointed out Washington, who later on admitted that that was not a lie.
Walpole continued to make giraffe and squirrel sounds in the background. "Stop this lunacy!" screamed an unidentified voice from the crowd.
"Don't go there, girlfriend," replied Washington.
The unidentified voice continued insulting random political figures unabashed whilst Walpole continued to make animal noises. "All of you are making a mockery of the political system!"
"**** you!" exclaimed Macdonald, taking a swig of whiskey.
"Who the hell do you think you are anyways?" asked Washington.
"Well, as a matter of fact?-" the voice paused. "I am Larry II, son of Larry I, heir to the throne of Jargovia, the rightful Lord of the Lords, so my presence makes this entire political debate completely senseless."
"I think we realised that a long time before you got here," said Washington.

"I'm going to take power over this English-like state," said Larry II. Walpole continued to make animal noises, seemingly forgetting that the time for comedy was well expired. "Oh, for god's sake, put a ******* sock in it!" cried out Larry II. Walpole, with his extremity of British stiffassity, took out a sock and stuffed it in his mouth.
A few days passed.
The Jargovian Council of Low-Ranking Jargovian Officials had called a special hearing to decide what was to be done about the sudden and rather disturbing appearance of the heir to a man they had all assumed to be a homosexual.
Peter, Pete, Bob, Bobo, and Elmer were seated in a circle around a somewhat U-shaped table, which was round to avoid discrimination as to which low-ranking official was the lowest-ranking, but not so round as to prevent someone from coming before the Council to complain that all the Jargovian Council of Low-Ranking Jargovian Officials ever did was argue about which one of them was the lowest-ranking.
"Bring forth the heir," said Elmer authoritatively.
"Hey!" exclaimed Pete. "I thought we agreed that I say that! I am the leader, after all!"
"Who made you leader?" inquired Peter, angrily.
"You did! Remember?" replied Pete. "In the last meeting you insisted you were the lowest-ranking and thus not the leader and exclaimed that I was thus the leader!"
Bobo groaned. "You moron! That was the second last meeting! You missed the last one because you were home sick with tuberculosis!"
"Yeah, you idiot!" exclaimed Bob. "And in that last meeting it was decided that none of us was the leader and that we were all equally low-ranking, but that Elmer would act in a leader-like capacity for us, since he was the odd man out, namewise."
"Oh, I see," acknowledged Pete.
"Ah-hem," coughed Elmer.
"What?"
"Heir Larry II is here."
"What? Oh, right!"
The Council looked down at the eight-year old Larry II, who had been standing there impatiently the whole time.
"And what might you want, little boy?" asked Bobo in a sickeningly condescending tone.
Larry II growled impatiently. "I want you to make me Lord of the Lords!" he yelled, in a way that gave the Council the impression that he was one of those spoiled rich-kid brats who are used to getting everything their own way, which he probably was.
"Yes, well, about that…." trailed off Elmer.
"Umm," continued Bob.
"You see," perked up Peter.
"It goes like this," tried Pete.
"You see," Bobo explained, "we're kinda doubting you're actually Larry's son."
"WHAT? HOW DARE YOU DOUBT MY ROYALTYNESS!" screamed Larry II, who apparently did not notice his extremely bad grammar.
"Yes, ah-hem, quite," began Bob, "well, it goes like this:"
"If your father," continued Bobo,
"Whom we're all quite certain was a homosexual," interrupted Pete,
"Quite certain," agreed Peter,
"Had had a child," continued Bob,
"He probably would've told us," concluded Elmer.
Larry II blinked. "Oh," he said calmly, "well I can explain that,"
"Yes?"
"Well, it's kinda funny really. You see, he was going to e-mail a notification of my birth, but the power button on his computer broke, so he couldn't turn it on, you see, and before he could get it fixed, he was killed by that German guy. Pretty funny story, huh?"
"Not really."
"Oh."
"Quite."
"Yes,"
"Well then,"
"Very good,"
"I see,"
"You do that,"
"So, do you believe me?"
"What?"
"Do you believe me? Will you make me Lord of the Lords?"
"Umm, well your story's a little hard to believe, considering your father was probably a faggot, but if you'd give us your mother's name, I'm sure we'd believe you."
"No, we wouldn't!"
"Quiet you!"
Larry II pondered. "I believe her name was Mary. My father said she was a Dutch hooker he accidentally impregnated while getting high in Amsterdam."
"Ah yes," recalled Elmer, "the infamous 'Let's Trade With Them Because Drugs, Prostitutes, and Gambling Are Legal There' Conference."
"Okay, well that's good enough for us. I guess you really are Larry's son!" proclaimed Peter.
"Good. Am I your Lord then?" Larry II asked, impatiently.
The Council turned away from Larry II and huddled, whispering anxiously. Then one of them yelled something which Larry II couldn't make out for plot reasons, and the Council turned to face him once more.
"Okay," began Elmer. "We have come to a decision."
"Which is pretty impressive in itself!" remarked Bob.
"Shut up!" yelled Elmer. "Anyway, since the elections for Prime Minister were already underway when you got here, we were in a bit of a pickle. But we've decided on a clear, clean, decision that'll make everybody happy."
"You're going to make me Lord of the Lords?"
"Well, yes…and no. You see, while you are the rightful Lord of the Lords, you are only eight years old. This makes you much too young to rule the nation effectively, but much to old to be gotten rid of by shipping you off to the Jedi for training. Thus, we have decided that you will be Lord of the Lords in name only, and that a temporary democratic government, led by a Prime Minister, will rule in a regency until you come of age at eighteen. The elections for Prime Minister have already begun, and we currently have three of the necessary four candidates already all ready. Understood?" explained Elmer, setting up the plot for the rest of this Part.
"I think so, yes," replied Larry II agreefully.
"Good, we will now set out to notifying any potential fourth candidates that the position of candidate for temporary rulership of Jargovia is still open."

II
Evil Lord Fing, Ruler of Quarter-Earth and Bringer of the Apocalypse, sat in his lair broding. It was 4 o'clock…tea/evil planning time.
"Hmmm, how can I establish my rule over Jargovia?" Fing wondered. He'd been wondering this for some time, since his rulership of Quarter-Earth had somewhat lost its charm, as of late. He had been particularly upset ever since he found out the piece of jewellery he'd mindlessly given away had turned out to be the random magical piece of Druish jewellery of legend, the one supposedly able to defeat him. Oh, well.
"Ahem, Evil Lord Fing?" asked a henchman, tentatively.
"Are you daring to interrupt my evil pondering??" asked Fing, angered by the insolence of one so insolent.
"Well, um, I guess so…"
"Off with his head!" cried Fing as the henchman was beheaded by the oversized laser beam which tends to come from nowehere.
"Someone clean this up!"
"Um, sir," said another henchmen, "you killed the janitor quite some time ago."
"Yes," began Fing "and I thought I told one of you bowels to hire a new one!"
"Well, about that…"
"Off with his head!" Once again.
"Now, if only I could find a way to rule over Jargovia in such a way that my ruleringness would be perfectly legal, and the people couldn't make a fuss. I mean, now that my two sons are dead…" Fing paused. His two sons were dead. His two and only sons. He was shocked this hadn't sunk in earlier. He took a moment to sob. "Wow," realised Fing, "if I wasn't deprived of a sense of right or wrong, that fact could've emotionally crippled me. Thank God I'm a psychopath. Anyway, as I was pondering…since Larry and Lester are dead and there is no current ruler, I could just swoop in like a buzzard on a high warm desert wind sometime between July and September and take control of the English-like state quite easily. Quite easily indeed. But then the people would probably complain, and then revolt, and then the United Nations would send in some sort of peace-keeping squad and remove me from power, and I'd probably get pissed off and do something stupid like bring the apocalypse. Hmmm, if only there was a way to do it legally…"
Suddenly, a henchman ran into the room, wildly waving about a piece of parchment and screaming "Hear ye! Hear ye!" in a deep, high-pitched voice.
Fing glared at the henchman.
The henchman gulped.
"You are SO lucky that it's 4:01 and evil planning time is over." said Fing.
The henchman breathed a sigh of relief?-and contempt, but mostly relief. How he ever wound up with this crazy job he wasn't quite sure. He was going to have a long talk with his temp agency when this was through, that was for sure…if he didn't get killed first.
Fing interrupted the henchman's thinking.
"Well, what are you standing around thinking like that for?-what is it??"
"Oh, yes, well, sir…." The henchman looked at the parchment and thought.
"Stop doing that!" screamed Fing. "I don't pay you to think! I pay you to reason!! You're wasting valuable time!"
The henchman cleared his throat. "The notice goes likes this, Lord:

Offycial Notyfycashion from the Iargouian Councyl of Lou-Rankyng Iargouian Offycials:
Deare Syr or Madame or Myss or Yt :

The Iargouian Councyl of Lou-Ranking Iargouian Offycials hath made yt's most ymportante decysion as of thys date, and YOU coulde taketh a parte. Heyr Larrie II ys to be namede as Lorde of thou Lordes, ande synce he be too young for the roles and pryuyleges and legions of harem girls thate come with thou title, yt hath beene judgede mostly astoundyngly, thate a temporarie gouernmente of the democratyc style shall rvleth yn hys place untyl Lorde Larrie II comes of the age of ten after eighte. To control thys gouernment, so democratyc, a Prime Minister has too be electede bie the people, ande assvmedlie for the people as well, though thys ys note gvaranteede. The candydates wich are runninge be Syr Iohn A. MacDonalde, Jeorge Uashyngtone, ande Syr Roberte Ualpole. Ande noue, you maie be askyngeth: were doeth I come yn? Yt ys uyte symple, reallie; you see, there hath to be foure candydates for the Iargouian Prime Ministery, ande as one so yntellygente as too readeth ye olde English scrypte, you maie notyce there are onlie three canydates. So, yf you uysh to rvle Iargouia, applie todaie for the poste of candydate for Iargouian Prime Minister!

"…okay…I didn't understand a word of that." said Fing, confused.
"But, my Lord," the henchman replied, "I read it out loud. The formal Olde English spelling shouldn't have been a problem."
"Well, it was! What did it say?"
"Well, basically, it means there's a spot open for anyone who wishes to be running for Prime Minister."
"Prime Minister, eh? What's that?"
"Well, it's the democratic leader of a country with a figurehead monarchy."
"Figurehead monarchy, eh? What's a figurehead monarchy?"
"A autocratic leader with no real power."
"Autocratic leader, eh? What's an autocratic leader?"
"A king or queen or something of that sort. You sir, are a Lord, which makes you an autocratic leader."
"So, let me get this straight, Larry II?-"
"?-your grandson,?-"
"?-my grandson, will be Lord of the Lords. But?-!"
"But!"
"He will have no real power. And the person with the real power will be the Prime Minister. And there's a spot open to run. And if I run and win, I will be Prime Minister. And I will have power. And I will effectively be?-"
"?-ruling Jargovia, sir."
"Legally?"
"Legally."
"Excellent. Let's go apply!"
***
Fing and the henchman (whose name was Barney, by the by) came to the small field on the edge of the woods that served as the portal separating Jargovia and Quarter-Earth (the same forest where Larry and Lester came across the talking spider oh so long ago) and were surprised to find a Jargovian Prime Minister Candidate Sign-Up Centre conveniently right there.
There was a nice old lady with glasses siting there. She was one of those women you could tell did nothing but community service, was probably on the PTA, never married, and was probably made fun of for her lack of beauty (or her possession of ugly) when she was a girl, and probably cried herself to sleep at night while clutching and eating a bag of Twinkies.
"Hello, nice to meet you," said the nice old lady.
"Hi! The pleasure is all mine," sincerely responded Fing, sadistically.
"Would you like to sign up? There is still no running fourth candidate so if you just sign now, you'll be the fourth and be officially running," the nice old lady informed Fing.
"Well, okay then," replied Fing, as he reached for a pen to sign up.
All of a sudden a crazy green dwarf ran up and signed the paper with his name (Rumplestiltskin-to the EXTREME!) before Fing could sign his own name.
"Hey?-what the crap?" exclaimed Fing.
"Ha! Now I be running for the primary ministry!! Ha-ha!" claimed the green dwarf.
"What the bloody ****!? I was going to run!" Fing was angered.
"Yeah, well, TOO BAD! I signed it first!"
Fing sighed in impatient contempt. "Yes, but I was clearly about to sign it! My pen was just about to touch the paper!"
"Yeah, well, TOO BAD! I signed it first!"
"Okay, listen here you little green bastard, I'm Evil Lord Fing, in case you didn't know, and I demand that you go off in a corner and die somewhere so that I can run!"
"Oh, yeah? Or else what?"
"Or else I kill you!"
"How so?"
"He'll stick a cap in yo' midget-size ass, tha's how so!" exclaimed Barney, joining in for the first time. "Either that or he'll behead you with his oversized laser beam which seems to come from nowhere!"
"Really?"
"Really." responded Fing, who was quite sure of himself.
"Well, it's my right to run!" proclaimed the green dwarf. He turned to the nice old lady. "Even ask her!"
The nice old lady shrugged. "I'm sorry, sir, but the dwarf's right. He signed the paper, so it's his right."
"But, but?-he's only doing it so I can't!" moaned Fing in the kind of voice you'd expect a four-year old on a playground to use when saying something like, "He started it!"
"I'm sorry, sir," replied the nice old lady, "but I'm a public servant, so there's nothing I can do."
"Damn!" swore Fing. He turned to the dwarf. "So, you're not going to back down?"
"No way, Jose!"
"Well, in that case, I'll have to kill you!"
"Really?" The dwarf obviously didn't believe Fing.
"Yes, really, damnit!"
A giant oversized laser beam came from nowhere and decapitated the dwarf.
"Well, that wasn't too bad."
"What the hell? Shouldn't you be dead?"
Barney stepped over to Fing and whispered, "Sir, he was too short, the laser wasn't programmed for his height."
"Oh."
"Shall I kill him, sir?"
"Sure, go ahead, you've earned it."
"Thank you, sir." Barney pulled out a gun and shot the dwarf, who flew back and perished with a high-pitched yell.
There was a pause.
The nice old lady blinked.
Fing coughed.
Barney sighed. "What? Every other mindless murder in this book is taken with indifference, but my murdering a dwarf is openly dealt with?? That's not fair!"
"But he was a dwarf!" protested Fing.
"Hey, what! You ordered me to kill him!"
"Yes, well, your actions disgust me," said Fing as he beheaded Barney.
Fing turned to the nice old lady. "So, since the dwarf's dead, I guess, I'll just sign my name."
"Wait a minute!" started the nice old lady. "You have to go through an intricate screening process to be a candidate!"
"But just a few minutes ago you said I just needed to sign,"
"Just go along, okay?"
"All right."
The nice old lady began her questioning. "Okay, question one: Are you a citizen of Jargovia (note: this is necessary to become a candidate)?"
"Well, no," began Fing.
"Sorry, can't be a candidate then!"
"What? But that doesn't make any sense. I mean, all the other candidates aren't native to Jargovia, how come they get to run? And besides, my whole family is Jargovian, it's not MY fault I happen to rule over a parallel universe known as Quarter-Earth."
"Well, I'm sorry, but those are the rules!"
"But it doesn't make any sense! It's self-contradicting!"
"Well, too bad, but this is what I was told, so I'm sticking to it."
Fing pondered, quite a sickening sight really, to see a three foot tall disgusting twenty-three year old immortal with a walker and a distinct resemblance to a squirrel, standing there pondering, but anyway I'm getting off topic. "Okay, now let me get this straight: Signing this paper with my name makes me the official fourth running candidate and nothing can refute that ever?"
"Right,"
"But you won't let me because I'm not officially Jargovian, even though none of the others are Jargovian."
"Correct,"
Fing smiled at the nice old lady foreshadowingly. "Okay, um…" he looked down at her nametag, "…Agnes, let me tell you this…what if I…" Fing slit Agnes's throat and signed the piece of paper.
"Excellent. I'm now running for the position of Prime Minister of Jargovia! Take that, Vladimir Lenin!"

III
Several months passed.
The campaigns were long and arduous. John A. Macdonald campaigned on the strength that he was in touch with the average Jargovian: drunken fat men who wear nothing but undersized vests all the time. Or, at least, the vest seemed undersized due to the abnormal corpulence seemingly adhered to as one of the traits of the stereotypical drunken fat Jargovian men who, yes, populated the region. However, he admitted his Canadian roots, and this gained him monstrous support, simply for the novelty.
George Washington campaigned on the strength that he was an American hero, "the greatest kind of person from the greatest nation on Earth". Oddly, no one seemed to care.
Robert Walpole campaigned on his being the first British Prime Minister, and that sort of leadership background had to count for something, right? Then he was told that he was dead last in the polls, and so began to resort to mumbling old Rat Pack tunes while dancing around in a gorilla suit.
Evil Lord Fing, unfamiliar with the democratic process, did not campaign at all.
Several more months passed, and then decided that it would be better to run by than to pass, and did so accordingly.
It was the night of the big political debate, the one that would establish for all time the candidates' views on important issues, each other, and the Jargovian people. The Jargovian News Network (a subsidiary of CNN) filed the following pre-debate newscast prior to the debate.
"'Hello, I'm Rehtar Nad, and welcome to our coverage of the Jargovian Prime Minister debate. But first, our special pre-debate report, Barb?'
A blonde woman with sagging breasts and an ugly face betraying many face lifts began her statement. 'Well, Tom?-'
'Nad.'
'?-yeah right. Jargovia's first election promises to be a gwate one, Tom.'
'A what?'
'A gwate one.'
'Yeah, umm, *cough* psycho *cough*,'
'Anywey, as I was saywing before I was so wudely interwupted, the Jargovian election is going to be interesting. As of last week, the polls were showing;


as you can see on screens, uh?-'
'Barb?'
'Yes, Tom?'
'Nad.'
'Whatever!'
'You've, uh, lost your accent.'
'I have? Oh dear. I mean, uh, Owh dewah. Anywhoo, as you can pwainwee see on yowa scweens, Evil Lord Fing is leading by a whoping 72% of voters, followed in a cwose second by Sir John A. Macdonald at 55%. Washington and Walpole fowow cwose behind at 20 and 30% wespectivewee, while undecided voters remain at 50%.'
'What the hell?'
'What is it Tom?'
Nad sighed. 'Nevermind.'
'Owhkway, anywhoo, as I was swaying: Evil Lord Fing, whose campaign motto is "Bring on the deceit", is in a shocking wead. We had a chance to twalk to the Evil Lord this morwing:'
Evil Lord Fing appears, with the words 'taped at an earlier date', flashing below his head,
'Evil Lord Fing, can you possibly explain your popularity in the polls?'
'No, I can't Barb, but what I can explain is this: If elected Prime Minister, I will takes ALL the first-born babies of Jargovia, and I will eat them! And then I will spit them out, and eat them again, to prove a point!'
'And what point may that be, Lord Fing?'
'That I'm an evil sunnava bitch!'
'Owhkay.'
Fing dissapears, and is replaced by the ugly blonde announcer.
'Anyway, accwording to owah senior political analyst, Lord Fing is weading because he is the onwee candidate Jargovians are thrwowwee familiar with. The other ones are awa foreigners, sowah Lord Fing is at least familiar in that he has every once in a while twied to take over the nation or kill one of owah leaders. Druid voters are expected to vote for Fing in droves, in response to his kidnapping of them some time ago.
John A. Macdonald's campaign, which was until today running under the slogan "I drink, therefore I am," has come under copyright infringement from some T-shirt company, prompting the change made today for the debate to "**** you!"'
'Barb, you lost it again,'
'**** you! Anyway, George Washington attracts many voters due to his Americaness, but a must larger percent of voters are repulsed by this. Sir Robert Walpole's campaign runs on the slogan "Vote Walpole" and has come under criticism for being too unimaginative. This of course, means before someone tells Walpole. Afterwards it becomes too imaginative, and we get into the animal impressions.'
'But enough of that bullshit, Barb, the debate is about to start.'"
And that was the pre-debate newscast.
***
The candidates walked onto the stage, and to their respective podiums, in a respectful, almost pretentious, stride that seemed to be in slow motion. The national anthem of Jargovia (ironically enough, "Long Live the Eternal and Unwavering Power of The Lord of the Lords, Perpetual Rulers of Jargovia") was played as an instrumental in the background, and the candidates took their positions.
They were called out one by one, their names and campaign mottoes read as they emerged.
"Sir John A. Macdonald!" cried the announcer. Macdonald stumbled onto the stage, dropped his cue cards, picked them up again, removed a flask out of his pocket and took a shot, and waddled up to the podium. "First Prime Minister of the Dominion of Canada from 1867-1873, and again from 1879 to 1891, Sir John A weighs in at 134 pounds, 7 inches, and his slogan is '**** you!'"
Macdonald bowed respectively and stuck his big nose in the air, which made some people think he was a snob; luckily he was.
"General George Washington!!" announced the announcer, announcingly. Washington marched onto the stage boldly, slowly, and carefully, whilst the Presidential March played in the background. "Washington lead the American Revolution, and served as first President of the United States of America from 1789 to1797. Washington weighs in at 165 pounds, 3 inches, and his real hair colour under that ridiculous white wig is pink. His campaign slogan is 'The greatest kind of person from the greatest nation on Earth.'"
Washington nodded presidentially to the crowd. He grasped his jacket and intoned, "In God We Trust". Generic cheering noises were heard, and it was later discovered that these were coming from a concealed speaker and had been recorded earlier at a Julius Caesar speech.
"Sir Robert Walpole!!!" exclaimed the announcer as Sir Robert Walpole rode in on a horse, dismounted and somersaulted to the podium in a shocking display of upstagemanship. "First Prime Minister of Britain from 1727 to 1741, Sir Walpole has demonstrated himself as a desperate poor loser, and weighs in at 81 pounds, sorry, I mean shillings." Walpole sneered at the announcer. "His slogan is 'Vote Walpole', which is a command I'm sure only those under hypnosis would obey."
Walpole stuck his tongue out at the announcer, and said, quite indignantly, "Hey! Aren't you pansy-ass reporters supposed to be impartial!", to which the announcer responded "Well, aren't you stiff-ass Brits supposed to be annoyingly polite?"
After a brief tussle, and an incident involving the Tower of London and the beheading of the announcer, a new announcer (whose name was Andrew, most of the time) was called in to continue.
The time had come.
"Evil Lord Fing, Ruler of Quarter-Earth, Bringer of the Apocalypse!"
There was a pause.
A cough.
A general murmur in the crowd.
"Evil Lord Fing, Ruler of Quarter-Earth, Bringer of the Apocalypse!!"
Another pause.
A few coughs.
Sounds of general dissatisfaction from the crowd.
"Evil Lord Fi?-"
There was a loud explosion, and Fing suddenly burst onstage while ten dollar bills fell from a blimp in the sky. There were general cheers from the crowd.
"****!" exclaimed Fing, stomping his foot. "I told them to emit poisonous gas from the blimp!" He looked in the crowd. "Oh well, they seem happy enough."
Macdonald and Washington, enraged at this obvious show of "buying votes", sneered at Fing. Walpole ran into the crowd and tried in vain to collect as much money as he could.
After the excitement had calmed down just a tad, the debate could finally begin.
"Candidates, you may now state your opening statements." stated the announcer.
Macdonald stood up, cleared his throat, shuffled his cards, took a sip of gin, burped, and sat back down.
"Uh, Sir John? Your opening statement?"
"What? Oh yes, quite old chap, quite. Anyway, as I was saying, as Prime Minister I will…"
"Mr. Macdonald?"
"Oh! Yeah, um, if elected Prime Minister I'll be a good Prime Minister because a Prime Minister should only be a good Prime Minister, otherwise, why was he voted for, right? I mean, I'd be a pretty grand Prime Minister, eh? Go Confederation!"
The crowd cheered and many beer cans were raised in toast.
"Okay…I guess so," admitted the announcer. "General Washington, your statement?"
Washington took a speech of water and a sip of liberty. "My Jargovian brethren! For years ye have seen the clouds of oppression overshake the chains of liberty! And for centuries upon untold centuries this land hath been in the grip of a futile and hypocritical dictatorial autocracy which squashed the bug of freedom with the hand of tyranny! Freedom! Liberty! This is what Jargovia wants, nay, needs! A release from an agenda of fear and terror and unto an era of hope! I will lead thee! I will lead thee into a new era of hope and prosperity where you mayest gaze upon the freedom of the democratic system known as democracy! How shall I accomplish this, you may ask, nay, demand? Well, I'll use the stirring spoon of freedom and the mixing bowl of liberty and put in a pinch of hope and a dash of love, and strain it through the colander of democracy, and the end product will be one serving of a great nation called the United States of Jargovia!"
There was a slight pause while the crowd tried to digest that speech and figure out what it meant.
"Dude, that was gay," mumbled a bored teenage junkie from the crowd.
"Yeah, what the hell was that all about?" demanded Macdonald, stating the thought on everyone's mind.
"Umm, sir," pointed out the announcer "you can't actually say anything, you aren't allowed rebuttals to opening statements,"
"No, no, shut up, let me say this?-"
"Sir, I could disqualify you for this,"
"No, just shut up you, I'm trying to point a get across. What the hell did that mean Washington? I mean, "free us from the hand of tyranny using the colander of love" yeah, I mean, what the ****?"
Washington took out a pistol and pointed it at Macdonald. "You have insulted my honour! I challenge you to a?-"
"**** you! Now, as I was trying to say, were you not aware, old chum, that the democratic government is only a temporary regency, and the Lord of the Lords will rule again after he reaches 18?"
"Yes, but, I will release this nation from the bars of tyranny and deliver it into the escape vehicle of freedom!"
"Yes, yes, great, but what you're saying doesn't make any sense!"
"Just-just shut up, Macdonald! I'm trying to say that I'd make a law banning monarchy while I was in power!"
"But in a parliamentary democracy the monarch still retains the ability to decide whether a law can or cannot, in the end, pass, so, you still suck!"
"Well, at the least I have the dignity not to be so obviously drunk at a national debate! It was that kind of tomfoolery that prevented you from getting mentioned in Chruchill whilst me and Robert here got a chapter each!"
"Really, well at least I'm not some baseball-loving American warmongering general, eh?"
"Well, at least I'm not some sort of hockey-playing Canadian peacekeeping pansy-ass, huh?"
"Huh?"
"Yes, I said 'huh'."
"What a crappy phrase!"
"Oh, and I suppose 'eh?' is much better!"
"Well, it is! 'Huh' makes you sound even more slack-jawed than you already are!"
"Yeah, well you're just a pompous drunk Canadian prick!"
"I'm pompous! I'm pompous? Hey, I drink copious amounts of champagne, sure, but YOU'RE the one going around wielding the spoon of love!"
"Spoon of Freedom,"
"What?"
"Spoon of Freedom,"
"Oh my God,"
"Don't take the Lord's name in vain!"
"Gentlemen, gentlemen," tried the announcer, "please! The debate has barely begun, and this kind of activity is completely illegal! Now sit down, and let's hear from Sir Walpole!"
Walpole stood up, sheepishly. "Umm, yes, quite, well then, um, if elected Prime Minister, I will try to um, raise the, um, standard of living, and um, lower income taxes from sixty to forty percent, and perhaps guarantee something, like a chicken in every farm, and oh, let's say some tea in every pot."
"Yeah! Pot!" cried out the bored teenage junkie from the crowd.
"Um, yes, quite, well, I will also try to um, do things which will satisfy both right and left wing voters, and of course I will do something about that economy, right-o?"
Washington scoffed at Macdonald. "And you thought 'huh' was bad."
The announcer banged a hammer against the table. "Excuse me, General Washington, if you'd please let Mister Walpole continue?"
"Um, actually, I'm done?-unless you'd like to see some figures?"
"Uh, no thank you," the announcer intelligently declined. "All right, Evil Lord Fing, your opening statement?"
"This oughtta be good," Washington whispered in Macdonald's ear.
Fing stood up and dusted himself off. "Hello, Jargovia! I am Evil Lord Fing, Ruler of Quarter-Earth, Bringer of the Apocalypse, and I'm the evilest guy in town! Now, I'm not saying you should vote to elect me Prime Minister, I'm just saying that it's my God-given RIGHT to be Prime Minister! Think about it! My two sons were Count and Duke of this crappy little island, and one went on to be a Lord of the Lords, and now my grandson is Lord of the Lords! So, I mean, if the damn thing is hereditary, shouldn't I have been Lord of the Lords before Larry and Lester? So shouldn't I, by right of blood, be Prime Minister, effectively ruling the country until Larry II comes of age? How could any good, moral, ethical person NOT vote for I, Fing, centre of all evil? If elected Prime Minister, I'll be sure to make all your lives as miserable as a democratic leader can make them! For I am Evil Lord Fing! Make me Evil Lord Prime Minister Fing, and I'll be the best damn Evil Lord Prime Minister this crappy state has ever seen (simply because there have been no other Prime Ministers to compare me to, I'd be the best by default)!!"
There was a pause while everyone tried to figure out whether he had complemented or insulted them. One of Fing's henchmen (who'd been placed in the crowd beforehand) yelled out "Three Cheers for Fing!" and all of a sudden the whole crowd started cheering, just in an act of conformity.
After the crowd had died down, the announcer took out some cue cards and faced the candidates. "All right, I'm going to ask you a series of questions. The questions may be directed towards just one, or all, or some of the candidates. You will have a short period after each question to debate. The first question is for Evil Lord Fing: Last year you stated at a press conference that you opposed Lord Larry's policy of boosting the economy by raising taxes. Now this year, you say that as Prime Minister you'd boost the economy by raising taxes. What gives, and are you a flip-flopper?"
Fing chuckled. "Well, first off, let me say I should kill you where you stand for asking that question, and second off: I love being a flip-flopper. I love flip-flopping. In fact, I flip-flop so much that I don't know whether I'm flipping or I'm flopping when I flip my flops." flip-floped Fing the flip-flopper.
"I protest!" screamed Walpole.
"About what?"
"Well, I'm not really sure, I just thought if I yelled that it would make you shut up."
"Oh."
"Yes,"
"Well,"
The announcer coughed. "Yes, um, well enough debate on that point. Anyway, onto the next question. This question is for all candidates, and we'll simply make the rounds,"
"Make the rounds?" questioned Fing.
"Yes, make the rounds,"
"What rounds? How do you make rounds?"
"It's a figure of speech, you moron!"
"How can speech have a figure? Is it a full one?"
"Arrgh! It's figurative language!"
"What kind?"
"What?"
"What kind?"
"Well, um, I don't know, um, metaphor?"
"You're wrong! Making the rounds is a synecdoche!" corrected Walpole.
"No it isn't, it's a simile!"
"Metaphor!"
"Perhaps a hyperbole?" suggested Washington,
"Well, whatever it is, I suggest we move on,"
"Onomatopeia!"
"WHATEVER THE CRAP IT IS, I SUGGEST WE MOVE ON!" screamed the announcer. All went silent. "Now, Candidates, if elected Prime Minister, what will you do? Sir John, we'll start with you."
"Well, I'd make it legal for anyone over the age of 16 to drink, I'd lower taxes on beer by raising taxes on water, and I'd make the beaver the national symbol of Jargovia." Macdonald took a sip of rum and sat back down.
"Why the beaver?" protested Washington.
"What?"
"The beaver! It's not even native to here!"
"Oh, and I suppose you'd suggest the bald eagle!"
"Well, actually yes!"
"But it's not native either!"
"Well…it could fly over!"
"Fly over?"
"Yes!"
"All the way from America?"
"It's not that long away?-and it's better than the beaver, whom I doubt could survive a swim to here!"
"Hey, shut up!"
"How about the lion?" suggested Walpole.
"SHUT UP!" screamed Macdonald and Washington together.
"I don't see why you're getting your boxers in a fancy over this," commented Fing, "we should just keep the national animal as it is: the dodo bird."
"Yes, I suppose. Quite."
The announcer coughed. "General Washington? Your answer?"
"Yes, well. If elected Prime Minister I would be sure to make sure that all of the effort gone into freedom and democracy will not be undone by the crushing feet of fear and terror as they squash all that we have built like some giant Japanese monster. Also, I will raise the national deficit by continuing to drive back the forces of tyranny and inequality. I will…"
"Raise the national deficit?" interrupted Macdonald.
"What? Oh ****, I mean, um, I meant, uh, raise the national, um…pride! Yes, raise the sense of pride and community between the men of this great state of Jargovia. Now, where was I? Oh right, lowering inequality, yes. I will write a document outlawing inequality, and enforce it by making sure only white landowning men over the age of 25 can vote and have rights, all blacks will be slaves, and women shall be treated as property, not slaves, as we now have blacks for that."
"What the holy ****?" yelled Macdonald, obviously outraged.
"I don't understand,"
"You're going to lower inequality by encouraging discrimination? That doesn't make sense!"
"Lower? Oh, I'm sorry, I meant raise,"
"You want to raise inequality levels?"
"Why, yes. Raise is good, no?"
"Not always. And if you said lower when you meant raise, doesn't that mean you were lying?"
"I never tell a lie."
"Yes, well, that's the point I'm trying to get across, you just did lie! What'd'ya think about that, eh?"
"I have never told a lie. Except that. And that. And that. And that. And that."
"That means you've told lies!"
"No it doesn't!"
"But, but, yes it does! I mean, you lied at least a dozen times in that statement alone!"
"Fine. I've never told a lie that was meant to confuse or distort the truth."
"But that's the very definition of a lie!"
"No, the definition of a lie is '…to make a false statement. Deliberate falsehood.'"
"Stop being such a literal ass!"
"Since when was the drunken Canadian such a smart intellectual?"
"Better than a smart dumbass!"
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"Okay, okay! Just shut up!" interrupted the announcer. "Can we hear from Sir Walpole?"
Walpole stood up, fidgeting. "Right, well, um, ah-hem; If elected Prime Minister, I think it would be best if levels of serfdom, which until the last quarter were up to seventy-twelve percent, were lowered and/or raised until levels reach a forty-seven percent difference either way. Now the best way to improve Jargovia is something I've been thinking about for a long time, and in my mind I believe it would be best if the levels currently associated with the forty million money national debt were changed to be associated with our burgeoning economic rating of 8.7 out of 25 on the Heins/Dover scale devised in 1364. Now the best way to accomplish this would be to make sure that every time something of this nature were successfully accomplished we'd be sure to…oh, bloody hell, I've lost my train of thought!"
"I'm sorry, Sir Walpole, we seem to be out of time anyway, if you could?-"
"Shut up! I'm trying to think! Now what was it I was going to say? Aw, ****, I can't seem to remember! All right, Fing, you can have the floor! Damn!"
Fing smiled his diabolically evil smile and stood up. "Thank you, Robert. Now, as I've been saying: If elected, I will probably kill you all and destroy all our lands and be completely evil. In my opinion this would quite easily get rid of all your financial, racial, economical, political, and miscellaneousal problems. I am evil."
The announcer coughed. "Um, thank you, Evil Lord Fing. Would anyone like to debate the points made by Walpole or Fing? Anyone? No? Okay, moving on. Obviously, the next question is: What will you do if NOT elected? That is, what if you lose? Sir John?"
Macdonald considered it. "Well, I was planning on going into real estate, but I changed my mind and instead I think I'll open up a chain of fast-food restaurants. I was thinking the symbol could be a giant M."
"I see. General Washington?"
"Well, that's a stupid question because I won't lose the election."
"Yes, but what if you do?"
"But I won't."
"But…oh, nevermind. Damn pretentious bastard. Sir Walpole, what will you do?"
"Oh, I don't know, I was thinking of going back to school for a few years and becoming a vet," said Walpole
"But dude," said the bored teenage junkie from the crowd, "the war is over."
A general laugh emitted from the audience.
"Yes, well," continued the announcer, "Lord Fing, what will you do if not elected?"
"I will probably kill you all and destroy all our lands and be completely evil."
"Wasn't that what you were going to do if elected?"
"Yes,"
"Well, if you're going to kill us all either way, what do you care?"
"Are you going to stop asking stupid questions?"
"Are you going to start answering them?"
"You really want to die, don't you?"
"Well, actually…"
"Do you want me to kill you?"
"Well, if you're going to kill me anyways, then?-"
"Off with his head!"
In a shocking turn of events, a laser beam came out from nowhere and behead the announcer. A team of production assistants dragged the burning carcass away and yet another new announcer was brought in (this one a clone of the first).
The new announcer smiled politely and read the questions. "Sir John A. Macdonald, what is your response to critics who've called you 'a bald drunken Canadian stereotype with a big nose whose a complete snob'?"
"I'd agree."
"What?"
"I'd agree. No use denying the truth."
"I don't understand."
"Well, it's quite obvious that that is exactly what I am, so there's no use in denying it, and besides, while those may be bad traits to some, those same traits lead me to where I am today."
"I see. Next question if for Evil Lord Fing. Some people have called you an evil megalomaniac? How does that make you feel."
"Oh, quite flattered, Dave. Quite flattered. You see, I have no problem with my evilitisms or any other degree of evility I may possess, I'm quite at terms. But if I ever find those people, rest assured I have them boiled in oil and their heads put on poles."
"Uh-huh. General Washington, some people have criticised you for having a self-inflated opinion of yourself. How do you respond?"
"That's a lie! I am completely humble! Why must others lie about me when I myself never lie!" declared Washington dramatically.
"But you were just proven to be lying a few minutes ago!" protested Macdonald.
"No I wasn't!"
"But you were! Why do you say you never lie when you obviously lie?"
"Hey!" declared the announcer. "I'm asking the questions here!"
"Shut up, you! Nobody cares!" yelled Macdonald in a shocking display of a politician revealing his own feelings. "Washington, why don't you just tell us the truth?"
"The truth?" declared Washington, in a lead-up to a stereotypical dramatic statement that I'm sure you all see coming. "You can't handle the truth!!"
The announcer pulled out a Super Soaker and started spraying the candidates. "Down! Down! Bad candidates, bad!"
Washington stuck his tongue out at Macdonald, to which Macdonald responded by flipping the bird.
"Hey! He can't do that!"
Fing groaned. "I've just about had enough of you! Off with his-"
"Candidates, please! If I could get closing statements from all of you?"
"Umm..." said Fing. "If I get elected, I will completely rid this country of violence."
"Everyone paused."
"And how would you plan on doing that?" asked the announcer.
"By killing everyone, of course," replied Fing. "You can't be violent if you're dead now, can you."
"Well, of course, but--"
"Ladies and gentlemen! Watch! Off with his head!" The annoucer was beheaded. "You see how he's not moving?" The audience nodded. "That's a typical trait of non-violent people." A whole stream of applauding and 'ah's came from the audience. A new announcer was discreetly slid in.
"Shouldn't there be a few more questions? We've only been asked six so far."
"To **** with the questions! I'm sick of questions! Closing statements from all of you so we can't end this inane debate and get on with the freaking election!"
The various candidates gave their closing statements (which shall remain ambiguous for no apparent reason other than pure randomness).
***
It was the night of the elections, and wouldn't you know it, but half of Jargovia forgot to register.
It wasn't that they didn't care, or didn't want to; they just plain, forgot. It was being called the most widespread occurrence of the "my dog ate it" effect since 1211 BCE in which the entire population of Egypt forgot what day of the week it was.
Meanwhile, Jargovian National News was covering the election, as per usual. Let's listen in, shall we?
"And that's why you should never eat raisins with peanut butter on toast. Judy?"
"Thank you, John. And now onto our continuing coverage of the Jargovian election: It is a quarter to midnight and the results of the vote are about to be finalised. It has been a tight race this evening, and with the massive lack of voter turn-out, no doubt due to Jargovia's unfamiliarity with the democratic process, estimates show that about half of Jargovia's going to be kicking themselves after the end of tonight,"
"That's right, Judy. After the results are announced, we'll bring you on the streets to talk with the average Jargovian about how they feel about the results, and who they voted for and why. We'll take you into the villages, farms and vast cemeteries that make up the heart of the country. But how about that campaign, eh Judy?"
"Yes, indeed, John. The candidates have fought tooth and claw after the debate, John. Macdonald and Washington have taken each other on so openly that last week, as a publicity stunt, they fought in a boxing match. The house was filled that night, I'll tell you that John. Walpole has continued his approach of roaming the countryside handing out flyers and buttons personally, and last weekend was reported having wandered out of Jargovia and into the neighbouring nation of Serpentonia."
"I always enjoy a brisk stroll through the Pacific myself, Judy."
"Me too, John. As for Evil Lord Fing, he has returned to Quarter-Earth until the election is over."
"And why is that, Judy?"
"He said he wanted to be in a place where he could kill random people legally. He says if he wins the election he'll come back, because he'll then be able to do that here."
"I don't know if the people will let him create a law to let him kill them."
"He says they'll have to."
"Or else what, Judy?"
"Or else he'll kill them, John."
"Very good, Judy. Oh, and here it is now. The results are in-and the new-Prime Minister of-Jargovia is…"
A drum rolled.
There was a pause.
Another drum roll.
"…EVIL LORD PRIME MINISTER FING!"
"Oh my God, John."
"Yes indeedy, Judy."
"This just in: Evil Lord Fing is now temporary Prime Minister regent of Jargovia! Lock your doors and bar your windows! Don't let children out after dark! Oh, who am I kidding? Don't let children out at all!"
"Yes, well, thank you for that completely slanted and biased outburst against our new Prime Minister, Judy." John looked at the camera and made a slicing motion against his neck while making beheading noises. "Now, as promised, we will go to our on scene correspondent Bill Soloveneresktervolavolasatchverstristoranteitalianokerenskiovskyovinov to talk to the average Jargovian about this disturbing election result. Bill?"
"Thanks, John. Joining me now is Jargovian citizen Joe Olliver, from the small town of Village #3, Larryington. Joe, who did you vote for?"
"Uh, Fing."
"I see you voted for the winner."
"He won?"
"Yes, now why did you vote for him?"
"Well, you see, I know he's evil and all, but at least I know what he stands for!"said Joe.
"Uh-huh, right. And you think the other candidates didn't express this well enough?"
"Well, Macdonald and Washington just sort of sat and argued, and Walpole makes no sense, but at least with Fing you knew what you were getting dead on."
"Dead on, indeed. Well, there you have it: Jargovians don't care what their politicians stand for, as long as they stand for something. Back to you, John."
"Thank you, Bill. Well, I guess that's it. Evil Lord Prime Minister Fing is now our new ruler until Larry II comes of age. It'll sure be an interesting ten years in the political field, won't it, Judy?"
"It will, indeed, John. Evil Lord Fing elected Prime Minister, wandering minstrels attacking young hermits, and an important food health warning; all in this exciting news day in Jargovia."
"And that's the news."

IV
Fing was quite exhilarated that he was going to be the ruler of an English-like state. To celebrate, he went to a comedy club right around the same ambiguous area he debated in, which is also quite as randomly generated as this sentence itself. On his way there, he ran into a begger.
"Could you spare some change?" asked the begger politely.
"Actually, I don't think I couldn't not spare some," replied Fing.
"Was that a triple negative?"
"It wasn't not unlike a non-triple negative," replied Fing.
"…So then it was a triple negative?"
"I'll tell you what," began Fing, composing himself. "I think we should?-off with his head!" screamed Fing. (You didn't think Fing would actually give money out of his own heart even if it would shut a poor old begger up, did you?). Fing continued walking into the old musty club.
"…And then I said ?'You're not the waiter and she's not my wife!" said the comedian. Everybody laughed. Fing laughed even though he didn't get the joke. "Thanks everyone, you've been a wonderful audience," he concluded as he walked off the stage.
"Give it up for George Harold White!" said the MC. The crowd cheered. Fing had had enough already…but, he still managed to crumple that single thought up in his mind…but although he managed to crumple it, he didn't make it disappear.
"And the next comedian that will be sharing some observational humor for you will be [looks at teleprompter]…uhh…[continuing to look at the teleprompter]…Jorn…Orlivorn?…[teleprompter technician correcting the MC with some rather vague primitive sign language of some esoteric entertainment-business-type signing]…Jawwwwn…[?'Oh, c'mon, MC! It's not that difficult!']…Awwwwliverr?….[teleprompter technician nodding, relieved]…that's right! John Oliver!"
The crowd took a few nanoseconds to digest what the MC belligerently babbled. "…John Oliver is an amateur comedian who says his favorite food is microwaved leftovers from thanksgiving and favorite movie is Sleepless in Seattle. He enjoys teaching his fish tricks and talking to his Swiss mistress on the company phone…oh, what the hell; much ado about nothing; here he is!" said the MC, as a short, skinny albino whose veins were purplier than one might expect walked onto the stage. You could almost smell the pistachio aroma emanating from the collar on his shirt, and his gangrenous elbow was definitely a tear-jerker; but at least it took attention away from the semi-transparent stained white t-shirt he was wearing, which in turn drew eyes away from his face, which ironically caused the audience to look at his elbow.
"I am content to be present within the glorious halls of this comedic theater!" exhaled John. You see, he had too nerdy a voice to call it talking, so ?'exhaling' suits the description more politically correctly. The crowd cheered.
"So, I am going to begin my routine now…"
The audience sat waiting.
"…so, what's the deal with hair dryers? I mean, they don't dry your hair, and who uses them anyways?"
"I do," replied a women.
"Oh?-kay, not off to a good start," said John. Perhaps he would haggle her. "Well excuuuse me, Mrs. ?'I dry my hair with a hair-dryer',"
"…And…" said the lady.
"You're a dinkus!" said John. The crowd laughed. "Ah, you like my naïve poindexterbabble?"
"No, we're being entertained because anybody in this room could insult someone better than you, and you're a comedian," booed Fing.
"Who do you think you are to say something like that?" asked John, hoping to get a kick out of hearing what occupation the short old guy with a walker had.
"I'm the Prime Minister of this god forsaken country and I can legally fire you," said Fing. A wet patch of liquid appeared between John's legs and he took out his inhaler to ease his panic attack.
"Well…….." said John. John figured it would be best to continue with his act. It really wasn't a bad act, but it just so happened that his humor really only worked on intelligent people.
"So when I was a little boy, my dad got me one of those little bikes with the horn on them, those really stupid ones with the seat shaped like a peanut, and he told me that he was getting the bike for me so I could learn to grow up. He also said that it was the metaphorical bike of safety, and that whenever I was feeling sad I could ride away my troubles. Now, I actually believed that old man until one day I was feeling sad. Remembering my father's words, I got on that bike and I rode my little heart out. But nothing happened." The audience sat, listening to John's every word. "So, I'm riding along, and I fall and scrape my chin on the pavement, and I'm sitting there on the sidewalk, bleeding, and I'm filled with this rage because my dad told me I could always ride to safety on it." The punchline was getting close. "And so I go home, and get this: I go to my dad and I tell him that I fell on my magical bike of safety, and you know what he says to me?" The audience sat, in rapture from John's tale. "You know what he told me? He said ?'Well maybe you weren't riding the bike right!'. And you know what I did?" The audience sat. "I was so mad that I took him and I beat him with the bike, and I said ?'There's your safety, dad!!!" They continued sitting. "Do you get it?" asked John.
"That's so not funny!" said Fing.
"Alright…What's with etymology these days? I mean, word meanings can be so deceiving! I mean, take for example the word monopoly. If you take the first two syllables and the last two syllables you get a direct contradiction! Mono-, meaning one, and -poly, meaning more than one! I mean, what the hell's with that?" The audience kind-of laughed.
"You see, a monopoly is one person owning many things, so that word is constructed completely logically!" said Fing surprisingly.
"Well you're a monopoly, you big monopolizing fruit cup!" said John.
"You suck," said Fing.
"Just give me one more chance!" said John. The audience nodded. "What do you get when you have twenty cents?" Nobody said anything. "A paradigm!" said John, as he started to chuckle and snort.
"Enough!" screamed Fing. "Have this man deported at once!" A random bulky henchmen walked up to John and bonked John on the head in a bonkish way and dragged his corpse off the stage.
Fing laughed for the first time that evening. Well, technically, the second time that evening. "It's sad because watching a comedian getting hit on the head bonkingly is funnier than the comedian himself," said Fing.
***
Ten Years Later…

Larry II was completely old enough to become the Lord of the Lords. The last ten years hadn't been that much exciting at all. (Hence the skipping).
Larry II woke up one morning and decided that he was going to go down to the Jargovian Governmental building, formerly Larry I's palace, and get the position of the Lord of the Lords, rightfully and honestly.
"I'd like to get the position of the Lord of the Lords," said Larry II to Bob.
"Ok," said Bob. "?-wait a minute…I remember being told not to give the position back to you."
"Back to me? I've never had the position to begin with!"
"Well that'd be Bobo's fault," said Bob.
"Why would it be his fault?"
"He was the one who told me not to give it back to you."
"He was?"
"Yes. I remember it quite clearly, now that you mention it."
"You mentioned it."
"Once again, Bobo's fault."
"I don't see how your verbal mistake can be anyone's fault but yours," said Larry II.
"Why don't we just go talk to Bobo?" asked Bob.
"Sure, but I don't see any use in it."
"Why not?"
"Well, we're going to talk to someone who supposedly instructed you to not let me have the position back, which doesn't make really any sense because you don't have the authority to not let me have it or take it away from me in the first place. And it wouldn't even be Bobo's responsibility to explain that to you. I am beginning so suspect a corrupt government."
"What are you talking about?" asked Bob, beginning to quiver his voice like an archer.
"I'm saying the government is corrupt," said Larry II, stomping his foot down both physically and metaphorically.
***
Meanwhile, in a Parallel Universe…
"…I'm saying the government is corrupt," said Larry II, stomping his foot down both physically and metaphorically. "Have you ever wondered whether or not the government controls what we do and what we say?"
Bob didn't have any time to respond. Larry II suddenly fell to the ground spontaneously?-dead.
***
"…I'm saying the government is corrupt," said Larry II, stomping his foot down both physically and metaphorically.
"Well I'm pretty sure the government is not corrupt," said Bob, breaking out a sweat.
"Let's go see Fing in his chambers," said Larry II.
"Fine," whined Bob, thwarted.
Bob led Larry II to Fing's Prime Ministorial Chambers. Fing was sitting in the office, which was specifically located in a dungeon to his specifications. He was doing paperwork. "…So if I raise the taxes by ten percent then we can build enough finance to construct a new main street," said Fing. "Plus there will be eighty-percent left of that money to pocket," he added. "Might as well raise it by, oh, twenty-five percent…Oh, hello Bob."
"Fing, we have a problem," said Bob.
"What is it? Are the police here? The police are here, aren't they. Oh, ****, quickly, go microwave the hard disks and put the magnet onto the computer. How many cops are there? Ten? Twenty? A HUNDRED COPS OUTSIDE MY CHAMBERS? Oh, dear, oh, dear. There's no time! Bob! Prepare rocket silo number fou?-"
"Larry II is here to take the position of Lord of the Lords. He is old enough and claims that it's legal, whatever that means," said Bob.
"Hmm," said Fing.
"What is it?"
"I'm still kind-of embarrassed you had to hear that," said Fing admittedly. "Actually, just forget it I said it entirely."
"Fing?-we still have a problem to deal with."
"Oh, right, that little dealio…hmm…off with?-"
"You're not going to treat my like some object and just kill me, are you?" asked Larry II.
"Well, we have ourselves a little lionheart, don't we?" asked Fing.
"Haha!" said Bob.
"Larry the Lionheart, Larry the Lionheart, Larry the Lionheart!" teased Fing.
"Stop it!" yelled Larry II.
"Okay, I'll tell you what: we'll call a meeting," said Fing. "Everyone! MEEEEEETING!!!"
Everyone came.
"What do you think we should do about Larry II getting the throne?" asked Fing.
"Once you go demo', you don't go back," warned Frank forlorningly.
They all turned away from Larry II and whispered. "What do you think we should do, Fing?"
"Let's send him on a useless quest that will be impossible to complete and kill him at the same time," suggested Bob.
"It'd save our time and his if we just killed him right now," said Bobo.
"But what's the fun in uselessly killing people?" asked Fing.
"Out of all of us here, you should be the one explaining that to us!" shouted Frank malevolently.
"I say we make him find the lost city of Baghdad," said Bob.
"Lost? It's right on the map?-"
"Ok, ok, don't want to tell the future," hushed Fing. "That doesn't happen for a while."
"Oh, right," said Bob. "Let's make him find….Atlantis!"
"Great!" said Fing. "Atlantis it is! But what do we tell him to do once he's there?"
"Hmm…he will go to Atlantis and bring back the corpse of a lion. No, wait…a lion with a dragon's body?-"
"You mean a dragon with a lion's head?-"
"Oh, the **** with it, there's no difference!" said Fing.
Fing walked over to Larry. "We would like you to find the way to Atlantis and bring back the corpse of a dragon with a lion's head," instructed Fing. "When you return, we will grant you your request of the throne to Jargovia."
"No strings attached?"
"Umm…no more strings than already added," muffled Fing.
"Fair enough," said Larry II.
So they told Larry II his quest. The next morning he was going to leave.

V
Larry II decided it would be best to start his journey by trav

Part the Fourth
"Excuse me, but do you know where I can find myself a worthy bush pilot?" asked Larry II.
"Sorry, bub, you got the wrong place. You oughtta go down to NBC for that kinda business."
"I beg your pardon?"
"NBC."
"What's that?"
"The National Bush Pilot Commission," explained the bartender.
"Wouldn't it be NBPC then?" asked Larry II.
"Yeah, well go talk to Bobo about that," replied the bartender.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"Very well then."
Larry II left the bar and headed down the old street towards a big building with the big neon 'NBC' sign on it. He found it completely unfathomable and serene that money was actually put into building a building for bush pilots to find work. Larry II entered.
"Hello sir, and welcome to the National Bush Pilot Commission. How may I help you?" asked the lady sitting in a desk promptly.
"Yes, I'm looking for a bush pilot."
"Well no ****," said the lady rudely.
"He needs to fly me to Atlantis and back," explained Larry II.
"Another one of those crazy scientists trying to find Atlantis, eh," said the lady.
"No, I'm not a scientist."
"A tourist?"
"You could call it that."
"Well, too bad?-scientists get cheaper rates."
"Oh, well, I'm a doctor then," said Larry II.
"In what field?"
"Doc?-tor?-ol?-o?-gy?" said Larry II.
"Oh yeah? Well, what university?"
"The Doc?-tor?-ish University for People Who Want to Become Doctors located in, uh, Doctoropolis," said Larry II.
"Oh, is that right?"
"Yes, I believe so."
"Okay, let me just finish typing your information on the computer here." The lady finished typing, pressed the print button, and then took a fast-food-chain-like steel microphone which was sitting next to the computer, and yelled "Yeah, one bush pilot, no luggage, for a doctor." She turned away from the microphone. "Would you like a receipt, sir?"
"No thanks," said Larry II.
Within minutes, a bush pilot came out from the staff room and walked over to Larry II.
"Tip of the morning, to ya," said the pilot. "I'm Shamus. Who be ye?"
"I'm Larry II, heir to the throne of Jargovia, and I seek Atlantis."
"Shore, you do, toity, toity, toi," said Shamus.
"I seriously want to find Atlantis."
"Kiss me, I'm Irish," said Shamus.
"You know, I've had enough of you!" shouted Larry II as he walked back over to the desk.
"Hello sir, and welcome to the National Bush Pilot Commission. How may I help you?" asked the lady sitting in a desk promptly.
"Yes, I just want to change my pilot," said Larry II.
"Alright, do you have a receipt?" asked the lady.
"No."
"Well I'm afraid I cannot help you unless you have a receipt."
"You just got me a bush pilot no more than five minutes ago!" shouted Larry.
"I'm afraid I cannot help you unless you have a receipt. I'm afraid you have to order another."
"Fine," sighed Larry II. "One bush pilot."
"Just a second, sir," said the lady. The same process repeated.
Another pilot walked out a few minute minutes later. "Shalom!" they shouted.
"Oh, great, another foreign," said Larry II. "Why is it that all taxi drivers and bush pilots have to be poor-hearing illiterate immigrants who have no other uses than filling an otherwise unfillable job?"
"Pardon?" asked the bush pilot.
"You heard what I said."
"No, I was too busy getting confused over my crossword," said the pilot.
"But you should have heard what I said."
"I'm sorry but my immigrant ears cannot decipher your babble," said the pilot.
"Oh, poo."
Larry II walked back over to the desk. "Hello sir, and welcome to the National Bush Pilot Commission. How may I help you?" asked the lady sitting in a desk promptly.
"You know what I'm going to say," said Larry II.
The lady blinked. "Hello sir, and welcome to the National Bush Pilot Commission. How may I?-"
"Help me? How can you help me? You can find me a ******* non-idiotic bush pilot!"
"I'm sorry sir, but if you use that tone with me I'll have no other option but to dismiss you from the premise."
"Fine," said Larry II calmly. "I'd like to book another pilot."
"Would you like a receipt?"
"Sure, why not," said Larry.
A few minutes later, a pilot walked out of the staff room. "Are you a freak?" asked Larry II.
"Not that I know of," replied the bush pilot.
"What's your name?" asked Larry II.
"It's Wesakechak," replied the pilot.
"Wesakewhatnow?"
"Wesakechak," said Wesakechak.
"And how is that pronounced?" asked Larry.
"We-sack-ee-chack," said Wesakechak. "Where would you like to go?"
"I want to go to Atlantis."
"Heh," said Wesakechak. "Been there, done that, mon ami."
"Didn't you say you were Native?" asked Larry II.
"Actually I didn't say anything about my heritage," replied Wesakechak.
"Why did you just say something in French then?" asked Larry II.
"I'm a Native French who looks like an Indian, yet speaks perfect English."
"I don't trust you," said Larry as he walked out of NBC.
"You better get used to walk-outs, NBC," said Larry II. "You never promise what you advertise!!!"
***
Larry II woke up the next morning in a musty hotel room. His weary eyelids opened slowly and tranquilly and he suddenly had a recollection of the night before: endless drink after drink; partying, and loud noises. His brain hurt. Perhaps he had overdosed. Larry II didn't recognize the room, and for a brief second he forgot where he was. He looked around.
The room was painted smoker-teeth yellow, and an old green floral pattern silk-screened onto the lonely plaster clung to life on the walls. You could tell that someone hadn't been in this room for a while. Larry II turned his head with a huge effort; for his lethargic body was succumbing to the plague of the early hours in the morning. Dazed, he switched on the lamp, which assisted his gloomy view of the old room. The lamp was old, too. Larry II figured it was one of those post-war era lamps imported from Spain in 1871 by the Miller-White Company founded in 1767. Gosh, his bed was uncomfortable.
To save money, the hotel said, they had their mattresses manufactured to spec with pure copper. Copper. Ambient, high-gloss, butterscotchy copper. At least the sheets yielded some comfort of the sort that Larry II sought; for although he tossed and turned during his slumber, he was unconsciously comforted knowing that his rich supple skin was supported by such silky-soft sheets. Yes, Larry II agreed with the hotel's superior choice of sheets. It was most likely the best sleep Larry II had had in the last ten years.
Still, head cocked to one side, Larry II buttressed his head with a humid feather pillow and acquiescently conformed to his body's recurring yearn for rest. Suddenly he realised he was being too descriptive and got out of bed at once. He turned on the TV.
"…and in other news, Serpentonia, home of the Rabbit, has been waging war with Bunnyopolis, home of the Snake. Meanwhile, Loppalopolis, home of the Loppaloppa, has been a bystander of the whole war itself."
"Wait a minute," said Larry. "If Loppalopolis is home of the Loppaloppa, then shouldn't it be called Loppaloppalopolis?"
The reporter coughed. "Quiet, you! In other news, Larry II was sighted earlier today in a hotel room with a mistress?-"
"Fine, I take back what I said!" shouted Larry II.
"?-but was later on reported as a rumor and has been denied by both the mistress and Larry II."
"Argh, I've had enough of this!" shouted Larry II.
Larry marched down to the bar, determined to find a bush pilot to fly him to Atlantis.
"…so what's the deal with hair dryers?" asked a skinny figure.
"Oh great, another one of those comedians," said Larry II sarcastically.
Larry walked up to the bartender and asked once again where he could find a bush pilot to fly him to Atlantis. "I already told you, you should?-"
"Hey there, sweet stuff," said a female voice.
"Who are you?" asked Larry II, turning to see the person who the female voice was coming from.
"I'm Amelia Earhart," said the lady. "You lookin' for a bush pilot?"
"I am indeed," said Larry II.
"Atlantis?"
"Yeah. Do you know where that is?"
"Yeah, I do; you see, I was flying my plane one day and crash-landed in Atlantis."
"The history books said you were flying over the Pacific," stated Larry II.
"Yeah, so?"
"Well, Atlantis is in the Atlantic Ocean."
"Well, one of those sources is incorrect because I found Atlantis and am protecting possibly one of the biggest secrets known to man," she said.
"Ah, I see," said Larry II. "What is the fee?"
"The fee is free. I don't believe in paying for things."
"Excuse me Miss Earhart, I'm going to need thirty-seven fifty for that tray of drinks you just ordered and then consumed in less that five minutes," said the bartender.
"Aww, I'm good for it; all my flexi's are maxed out; can you put it on my tab?"
"That's what you told me last time," said the bartender.
"I thought you said you don't believe in paying for things," said Larry II. "Yet momentarily I find you pleading with a bartender not to pay for a tray of alcoholic beverages because your credit cards are maxed out! What kind of hypocritical bitch are you?"
"The bitchiest in Serpentonia," said Amelia with pride.
"C'mon, Amelia, let's bust this joint," said Larry II. "Let's go to the airport and you can show me the way to Atlantis."

Later that day, Amelia and Larry II left for Atlantis. "Boy, I love planes!" said Larry II exuberantly.
"Isn't that sweet," remarked Amelia. "Listen, cupcake, I'm going to have to blindfold you and knock you senseless to take you to Atlantis because it's in a secret location only knownst to me and the other Atlantians."
"Well, if you're going to knock me senseless, then what's the point of blindfolding me?" asked Larry II.
"I asked the same question myself, but then I realised I was the pilot and couldn't be unconscious or blindfolded, so I suggest you shut up!"
"But that doesn't make any sense!"
"Sure it does!"
"Not really."
"Well, fine then; just relax."
Larry II sat there waiting for Amelia's knock-out. Surely enough, he felt a dull blunt object whack him in the head and he quickly fell asleep.
***
Evil Lord Prime Minister Fing in his chambers. "So, Frank, aren't you glad we sent Larry II on that useless quest?"
"Indeed," replied Frank. "Indeed."
"So…I guess there's no more opposing force for me to oppose," sighed Fing.
"I guess not."
They both coughed.
"These last ten years went by fast, didn't they?" asked Fing.
"Funny you should mention it," said Frank. "I was just thinking the same thing."
"Were you really?"
"Indeed I was, boss."
"Well that's rather interesting," said Fing.
"Is there a point to this meaningless conversation? I mean, who goes up to someone and says the last ten years have gone by fast? It's like going to a fishing tackle store and telling the salesmen you want to buy some fishing tackle."
"That was a rather good analogy," said Fing.
"Yes, it was," replied Frank.
Bob, Bobo, Pete, and Peter walked into where Fing and Frank were standing.
"Hey, what happened to Elmer?" asked Bob.
"I'm right here," said Elmer.
"I didn't notice you come in!" said Fing.
"Well that's probably because I wasn't mentioned," said Elmer furiously.
"Ok, well, what's the point of all of you coming here?" asked Fing inquisitively.
"The point of us being here is that we're fed up with you completely!" said Elmer.
"No, you are completely fed up with me," corrected Fing.
"And that's one of the reasons why we're fed up with you!"
"Why?"
"Because you correct us all the time! Stupid you and your grammarical knowledge!"
"Grammatical," said Fing.
"Who cares?!" yelled Pete.
"Well, I wouldn't correct you if I didn't care," said Fing.
"Ok; I'm starting to tire of you, Fing," said Elmer.
"Well nothing's stopping you from leaving," replied Fing.
"Ok, then I'll leave," said Elmer, as he started walking towards the door.
"No! I was trying to say that to intimidate you!" shouted Fing. "Come back!"
"Why do you even need me? In the ten years I've served service to you, I've done no paperwork, I haven't been talked to, and it seems as if I've been leaving my house at six-thirty every morning to come to an empty cubicle with no work to be done whatsoever. I mean, I haven't even been asked to get coffee for the other employees!"
"Now that you mention it, I could go for some coffee," said Bob incredulously.
"BLAH!" said Elmer. He stormed out of the room.
"It looks like we'll need to hire another governmental employee," said Fing. "But whom?"
"Who are we going to hire?" asked Bob.
"I'm not sure," said Fing. "I remember that when I was hiring you I had a list up in my office upstairs. I haven't been there for ten years, though."
"Well then I guess we should go upstairs and go in your office and find those papers," suggested Frank.
"Ok," said Fing. "But all of you have to stay down here in my chambers." They all nodded.
Fing went upstairs into the main foyer, walked down the hallway, and continued walking until he reached une grande porte. There was a plaque on the door, which read His Lordship on in, but a piece of yellow office paper had been taped on top of it, and now read Evil Lord Prime Minister Fing; this wasn't necessary, as Fing could still be known as His Lordship. Fing opened the door. Someone was inside, and didn't appear to want to get caught.
***
Larry II woke up in a daze. "You alright, honey?" asked Amelia. It appeared they were still flying.
"Yeah, I'm fine. Are we still flying?"
"Yeah, we are; we've actually only been in the air for about ten minutes," replied Amelia.
"We have?"
"Yup."
"So I guess that means that I can just stay up for the rest of the flight?"
"No, it means I'll have to knock you out again," said Amelia.
Larry II was hit again.
***
Larry II woke up later on that day. He seemed to be in the aircraft still, but it didn't seem like he was in motion anymore. "Hello?" asked Larry II, as he opened his eyes.
"Hey there, sugar," said Amelia, taking off a blindfold.
"I thought you said you couldn't blindfold yourself!" said Larry.
"Well, the thing is, when I first discovered Atlantis it was pitch black at night and I was incapacitated so I have to recreate that exact situation every time I fly to Atlantis," explained Amelia. "It just so happens that I randomly end up in Atlantis every time."
"You are being contradicting on so many levels," remarked Larry II. "First you said you can't blindfold yourself otherwise you couldn't fly the plane, and second, you said you know your way to Atlantis, which is false, because you blindfold yourself every time."
"Interesting point you have there," said Amelia. "?-oh, looks like we're here." She left the subject entirely.
A large crowd greeted Amelia and Larry II on the runway of the island. "How in hell could you land a plane properly with a blindfold on while talking to a person?" asked Larry II.
"Listen, good-lookin', are you gonna' stand there and ask questions, or are you gonna' stand there and not ask questions?" asked Amelia.
"Questions," replied Larry II.
"Too bad, sugar-pie," said Amelia, as she waved over a guard.
"Welcome to Atlantis," said the guard. "I'm Toby, and I'll be your shadow for the next few days." He turned to Amelia. "Hello, and welcome back, Amelia; we've been expecting you for quite some time."
"How could you have been expecting her anyways? We haven't sent you any messages of any kind of our arrival!" proved Larry II.
"You see, we don't have that many visitors, so we can inevitably expect some of them to return from time to time?-"
"And another thing," started Larry. "I thought Atlantis was buried in the ocean! How could it be an island that has never been charted or seen if it is actually buried in the sea?"
"Well, you see, about that?-"
"Hey mon!" shouted a Jamaican man from a Hummer.
"Looks like our ride's here, teddy-bear," said Amelia.
"I've been wayting at da stayshun fo'eva, mon!" shouted the Jamaican. "Put a mooove on it!"
Amelia, Toby, and Larry II got in the Hummer and drove away. "So, Larry II, what is your purpose of being in Atlantis?"
"I was sent to Atlantis to bring back the corpse of a Dion," said Larry.
"A Dion, eh," said Toby.
"Sounds like an adventure, doll-eyes," said Amelia.
"Da plain, da plain!" shouted the Jamaican, swerving the car.
"Yes, the plane," sighed Larry II.
"Oh, it looks like we're here," said Toby.
"Where?"
"The place where you can find a Dion."

***
Fing peered at the man inside the office and was in the midst of logically figuring out who the person might be, and whether or not they were his friend, or his foe. Fing eyed the Tropicana orange juice container the man was drinking from. "Who are you?"
"I am a person," said the figure, emerging from the darkness. "That's who I am."
"How did you get here?"
"Well, I was here," started the man, "since the beginning."
"The beginning of what?"
"You," said the man.
"You were in this office from the beginning of me?" asked Fing.
"Precisely," replied the man.
"And what exactly does you mean by that?" asked Fing.
"I, the person in the office, have been here, in this office, since your beginning."
"My beginning of what?"
"Becoming a man," replied the man.
"Can you just tell me your purpose without being so ominous?" asked Fing demandingly.
"Fine," sighed the man. "Thank god for your arrival! I've been locked in this office since you were Prime Minister for the last ten years and have been rationing my 250mL orange juice container to stay alive."
Fing quickly did the calculations in his head. "That's only sixty-eight one-thousandths of a millilitre per day!" exclaimed Fing.
"Yes, but enough to keep me alive. I passed time by seeing how many times I could press the equals button on this calculator, and I kept time by putting a mark on the wall every day."
"How did you know when it was a new day? There's no ******* sunlight!"
"I estimated it."
"Then how the hell did you know it was ten years?"
"Magic."
"Ah," said Fing. "What is your name, feller?"
"My name is Meuchelmörder," said the man.
"Meuchelmörder, eh," said Fing.
"Listen," said the man, "you gotta help me; I've been here for ten years and I'm in desperate need of something to do that requires no effort yet keeps my brain from going insane?-"
"How 'bout a governmental position?" asked Fing.
"That's perfect," said the man.
***
The Jamaican driver stayed in the car while Amelia, Toby, and Larry II exited. "So, you say we can get a Dion in here?" asked Larry II.
"Yes," said Toby, raising his voice; there was much background noise to interfere with his audio energy from reaching Larry II safely.
"Where are we?" asked Larry II, in wonderment how there was such a place where you went to get a dragon with a lion's head.
"We are at Columbus Stadium," said Toby. They entered.
There was loud music playing, as well as a big crowd listening to the music. "This music is loud!" said Larry II. "Not only that, it really sucks!"
"Ladies and gentlemen," said Toby, pointing to a female on the stage, "you have your Dion."
Larry II gulped. Amelia likewise."You gelatinous blob of insolence!" screamed Larry II at Toby. "You moronic imbecile!" he continued. "I said a Dion, as in a dragon with a lion's head; not Dion, as in Celine Dion!"
Toby gulped as well. "You didn't specify!" said Toby, taking out a recorder.
"I specified the hell out of my instructions to you!" yelled Larry II.
Toby positioned the tape. "' I was sent to Atlantis to bring back the corpse of a Dion'. There! You see? You never specified!"
"Oh, the **** with it!" yelled Larry II, taking out a katana. He killed Toby, as well as Amelia for no apparent reason other than rage.
Larry II left. "Hey mon!" said the Jamaican. "You bee commin' back in da' car, cus dat' cos mo' money," he said.
Larry II took out the katana and killed the Jamaican too. "Useless waste of air," said Larry II to the Jamaican as he took his last breath of air. "No, seriously, you're wasting air!" said Larry, stepping his foot on the Jamaican's chest to prevent any more air from being drawn in. Larry II sighed. "I guess I'll have to do it myself."
Larry II went to a hotel that evening. He was sitting in his bed, thinking. "Wait a minute," he thought. "What's the point of this quest anyways? It has no significance to my worth! Trickery is afoot! I know what I'll do…I'll fabricate a stupid Dion myself and bring it back with me."
Larry II sat up in his bed. The first thing he'd need was some cotton. He went to the local store called Cotton and Cigs, a twenty-four-hour cotton and cigarette store. "Hello," he said to the clerk. "I'd like some cotton."
"Some what?"
"Some cotton."
"Cotton, eh," said the clerk.
"Yes, cotton," said Larry II.
"What?"
"Cotton!" replied Larry II.
"What about it?"
"Cotton!!!"
"What? My teeth aren't rotten!"
"Pah!" said Larry, storming out of the store. Another customer walked in.
"Hello," said the customer.
"Hi," said the clerk shortly.
"I'd like some cigs," said the customer.
"Some what?"
"Some cigs."
"Cigs, eh," said the clerk.
"Yes, cigs," said the customer.
"What?"
"Cigs!"
"What about them?
"Cigs!!!"
"What? Well, sir, you're not that slim either," said the clerk rudely.
"Pah!" said the customer, storming out of the store.
Larry II managed to find some cotton at a more reliable store called Cotton & Gin, not to be confused with the store beside it called Ginned Cotton. Later that evening, Larry produced a Dion and packed it in his luggage, and then decided to go down to the hotel store to purchase a map with Atlantis on it so he could fly back to Jargovia.
"Hello," said the clerk to Larry II.
"Hi," said Larry II.
"What would you like to buy?"
"I'd like to buy a?-oh, ****, I'm out of money; I'll be back soon," said Larry II as he left the store. "****, ****, ****, ****, ****," he thought as he bustled through the streets of Atlantis. Suddenly he was overcome by neon lights. "A casino!"
Larry II walked into the casino and was shocked at how many people were there. He decided to go to the easiest game to win at?-Roulette?-to get some quick cash, but as he walked towards the table, he saw an even cooler-looking sign?-Russian Roulette. "Ooh," said Larry II. "Me wantee money."
Larry II paused in thought. "Wow, I'm such a lonely bastard. I mean, look at myself! I'm all by myself in a casino in Atlantis trying to earn money in Russian Roulette so I can go buy a map to fly back home in hopes that the temporary democratic government will believe my cock-and-bull Dion story and rightfully give me the position of the Lord of the Lords so I can live a long, prosperous life in the country I so sorely hate."
"Hey there, Larry II," said a man.
"Hey, John A. Macdonald!" shouted Larry II. This was the first time he'd seen someone he half-knew in a while. "What brings you down here?"
"Well, after losing the election, Walpole, Washington, and myself were shown down here by our friend Vladimir Lenin to relax and play some Russian Roulette. We've been playing for the past ten years and it's been amazing!"
"Have you ever lost at Russian Roulette?" asked Larry II rhetorically.
"Of course," replied Macdonald shockingly.
"Doesn't the loser of Russian Roulette end up dying?"
"Well, yeah," sighed John. "What's your point?"
"It doesn't make any sense!"
"Sure it does!"
"Excuse me, sirs," said the Russian Roulette dealer.
"There's a dealer in RUSSIAN ROULETTE?" yelled Larry II.
"Yeah," said the dealer.
"Ok, so let me get this straight:" started Larry II. "The three of you and Vladimir Lenin have been playing Russian Roulette in a casino in Atlantis for the past ten years, sometimes winning, other times losing, all in the presence of a dealer? That ain't right!"
"You sure soaked the cork on that one," said a random man who just so happened to be listening.
"What's your name, dealer?" asked Larry II. "I'm going to report you to the authorities."
"Wesakechak."
Larry II gasped. "Wesakechak? As in, bush plane pilot Wesakechak?"
"Yeah," said Wesakechak. "What's it to you?"
"How'd you get down here?"
"Well, you see, I have governmental diplomacy because of my Native roots."
"I thought you said you were French!"
"Well, why would you expect me to be French with a Native name like mine?" asked Wesakechak. Larry II was confused. Larry II had made that point the first time they met.
"Ok," said Larry II calmly. "For the benefit of the doubt, I'm going to let the whole situation slide under the grounds that I get some money so I can go buy a map and get the hell out of here."
"Deal," agreed Macdonald.
"Great," said Washington.
"Indubitably!" shouted the pompous tea-drinking Englishman.
Each gave Larry II some money, and Larry went on his way back to the hotel store. "Yes, I'd like to buy a map," said Larry II.
"Alright," said the clerk.
Larry II paid.
"I'm sorry sir, but you are one unit of money short. I'm afraid you'll either have to cough up some more fundage or go find the map for a lower price," said the clerk.
"Where can I find it for a lower price?" asked Larry II.
"Unfortunately, being a specialized hotel gift shoppe, we sell at rock-bottomly low prices and I'm afraid you'll have to order a map directly from Rand McNally."
"Rand McNally, eh," said Larry II. "Who's he?"
The clerk swore. "Rand McNally, sir, is the most respected map-making company. It also shares the name with a type of chip dip, but that's not the point," said the clerk.
Then the clerk sneezed.
"Sorry," said the clerk apologetically, "I have a cold. But hey?-it could be worse?-"
"You're right," said Larry II. He took out his katana and slashed the clerk. Nobody in the store seemed to mind.
Larry II left the store and went to go find Rand McNally. "Excuse me, sir," he said to a man on the street. "Do you know where I can find the Rand McNally map company?"
The man sighed. "What is it with you tourists? Why did they make the main industry in Atlantis tourism anyways?" asked the man.
"Uh, that didn't answer my question completely," said Larry II.
"**** you," said the man.
"Very well then," said Larry II as he carried on. Suddenly Larry II realised that he could just go back to the hotel store and steal a map to find out how to get to the Rand McNally company to buy a map for a cheaper price, so as to be able to fly back to Jargovia. What a moron. "I heard that," said Larry II to the Narrator.
Larry II was hungry, so he decided to go into a soup kitchen. "Velcome to our soup kitchening," said the mysterious Russian cafeteria lady. "Vat you vanting?"
"Umm…some soup," replied Larry II.
"Vell be more specificing," replied the Russian.
"Chicken," said Larry.
"Ah, ze chickening," replied the lady. "Vee be serving ze chickening in ze short time?-," she started, "?-ink."
"Greeat," sighed Larry II.
"Vat ze matter, guy?" asked the Russian. "You know liking ze accentink?"
"Well, no not really," replied Larry II.
"Zen shoo! Shoo!" the lady took out a large novelty broom and started making humorous shooing motions. Nobody laughed except Larry II.
"HA," chuckled Larry II.
"No kiddingink," said the lady. "I shoo Baba Yaga, I shoo you." She hit Larry II on the head.
"Owwwwwwwwww!" he screamed. "Do you have lead in there or something?"
"Ze compound is solid mercuryink," said the lady.
"How is that possible?"
"It is ze island," she said forbodingly. "Now SHOO!"
Larry II did just that, and when he arrived at the Rand McNally factory he told his story to the worker.
"You're such a moron," said the worker. "You stole a map because you didn't know the way to a map factory, just to buy another map to find your way back? You could've just stolen one and not involved this company atall!"
"But I chose to," whined Larry II rejoicefully.
"How can you whine rejoicefully?" asked the worker.
"I don't know…just give me a map."
"Fine." The worker handed Larry II a map.
"Tee-hee," snickered Larry II like a little boy. LarryII looked at the map and tried to find Atlantis. "Hey, wait a ******* minute," said Larry II. "Atlantis isn't even on here! What good is that?"
The man replied, and explained it to Larry II. "Well, in order to keep Atlantis' location absolutely top secret, we import every Rand McNally map with Atlantis on it and replace it with illegitimate copies of our maps, which boast the fraudulent McNally logo and have Atlantis omitted. We import Vietnamese sweatshop workers and employ them under filthy conditions to do the job for us; we keep them locked up in the basement. If the UN ever found out we'd be in deep sh?-wait a minute…you're not in the UN are you?"
"Uhh?-so, how about those Lakers?" asked Larry II.
"Are you or aren't you in the UN?" asked the man.
"Oh, well gee, look at the Time," said Larry II, leaving the building. On his way out, Larry II tripped over a wire and exposed a secret passage beneath the floor. He ignored it.
On his way back to the plane, which he was planning on using to fly back to Jargovia so he could reclaim the throne, Larry II saw a family of tourists wandering around aimlessly.
The father in the family, who was obviously the father in the family since he was around 40 years old, bald, fat, drunk, and yes, was wearing nothing but an undersized vest. Anyway, the father turned to the mother and was yelling quite loudly enough for Larry II to hear.
""See? I asked for directions just like you asked, and look, we got lost!!"
"Well, maybe if you looked at the map," nagged the mother unhelpfully.
"Fine! I'll look at the freaking map!"
"Are you two havin a fight?" asked one of the two twin toddlers in the family.
"No honey," replied the mother, "Mommy and Daddy are having an adult conversation,"
"Damn," pouted the toddler. "Every time you fight I get a new toy."
Meanwhile, the father had pulled out a map and was looking at it fitfully.
"Look at the map, she says, look at the map,"
"What's wrong, honey?"
"What's wrong? What's wrong? I'll shows ya what's wrong!" he shoved the map into her face. "Atlantis isn't on this freakin' map!"
***
Fing sat in his chambers captivatingly, and, beguilingly waved a job interviewee into the room. It was a blind man. "Hey, can't you see the sign? NO BLIND PEOPLE ALLOWED!" said Fing.
The blind man, removing his French-artiste chapeau, sat politely down in the chair, with his dog sitting beside him. Fing sighed.
"****! I hate blind people! I hate dogs!" said Fing.
The blind man sniffled. "I'm interested in a job?-"
"Shut up, blindie?-"
"Even though I'm blind, I can paint sensory images with my ears, you know," informed the blind man.
"Oh, is that right?" asked Fing. He motioned for everybody in the room to completely silence themselves. "How many fingers am I holding up?" Fing held out all five digits.
"You are holding up four fingers and one thumb on your left hand," said the blind man.
"Then why the hell do you need a seeing eye dog?" asked Bob.
"Well, you see, I own a seeing-eye-dog store, and if I go around without a seeing-eye-dog myself, that wouldn't be very good for my business, would it now! I mean, blind people aren't supposed to know that they can still see, just not with their eyes. If I'm part of the cabinet, I promise to lessen prejudices and discrimination against blind people. I think I'd be a very good role model."
"I've had enough of you," said Fing. "Take this man outside and shoot his dog."
"That's a terrible thing to do, Fing!" shouted everybody.
"Oh, what, I kill random people all the time, and suddenly when I go to kill a single dog that isn't even serving a purpose you jump all over me? Gimme a break!"
A man walked over with a Kit-Kat bar. Fing ignored him and made a gun shape with his right hand, pointed to the dog with his left hand, and scratched his back with his other hand.
"What an evil man!" shouted the blind man.
"Well c'mon, it's not like you didn't expect it! I mean, look at my title!!!" Fing pointed to a wall.

"Evil Lord Prime Minister Fing"

Everybody paused. "I mean, for god's sake, I'm a prime minister!"
***
The wind was fierce and it shook the plane about. Luckily for Larry he was two thousand miles away in a different plane. "Gee, if only I knew how to fly?-" said Larry II to himself. "What do you figure a flashing red light that says 'Danger' means?" The plane started descending. Larry II figured something bad was going to happen. "No, this can't be the end!" he shouted as the plane fell to the ground.

VI
"Meuchelmörder, you're going to like being a member of our government," started Fing. "Here's your membership card; it gives you 5% off at Macy's?-"
"Those sheepish bastards at Macy's," began Meuchelmörder.
"Yeah, but you get 50% off at Chili's," said Fing, eyeing the card pleasantly. "Damn, those are good ribs."
"Tell me about it," said Meuchelmörder. "I had some last night?-"
"Excuse me," said Bob. "We have some business to attend to."
"And what business would that be?" said Fing stomping his foot.
"Umm…we have to figure out how to solve the massive riots that are breaking out?-"
"Just kill them all," said Fing and Meuchelmörder in unison.
"Gee," said Fing. "We are alike! Tell me, what is your favourite way to kill people?"
"I like to shoot them," responded Meuchelmörder.
"Ooo, too bad," said Fing. "I like beheading people. But hey, they both involve dying! I mean, that's a coincidence in itself!"
"Sure is," agreed Meuchelmörder.
"We can't just kill people! We're democratic!" shouted Bob fitfully.
"It's not that we kill people because we're democratic," began Fing. "We kill people because we are democratic."
"The second statement was exactly the same as the first, except it didn't contain the contraction 'We're'."
"Well, didn't you notice the emphasis? In the first statement, the emphasis was on because and in the second statement it was on are. Do you see?"
"Stupid you and your perfection," said Elmer, taking a sip of coffee.
"What a philosophy! Bra-vo! Kudos to you!" said Meuchelmörder, applauding.
"Why all of a sudden are you on His side?" asked Bob to Meuchelmörder. "Everybody's been against him since day one!"
"You mean you've been pretending to like me?" asked Fing sobfully.
"Well, yeah," said Pete. "It was tough at first, but now it feels so forced that it feels natural."
"I agree," agreed Peter.
"Likewise," admitted Elmer.
"Well," said Fing. "There's only one way to solve this problem. My mother said that if everyone hates a person than the best thing to do is to get rid of the person that everybody hates. Meuchelmörder and I both agree we hate you, so?-" Fing began walking towards the doorway slowly, hoping that he would hit a string in everybody's hearts and make them beg for forgiveness. Nobody did anything. "?-OFF WITH THEIR HEADS!" he screamed, and sure enough, everybody died except Meuchelmörder.
"Holy crap!" exclaimed Meuchelmörder. "What entertainment!"
"Yeah well, it gets me from point A to point B," said Fing.
"What?"
"Oh, I guess that saying didn't apply," responded Fing. "What I meant to say was, uhh?-sure, entertainment."
"I don't think that's a saying," said Meuchelmörder.
"Well didn't I just say it?"
"Yes."
"And didn't I say it in the past?"
"Correct."
"Then it's a saying. Let's get to work."
***
Meanwhile, in England…

A man walked into the office and threw his hat strategically on a three-pronged hat-catching mechanism and then motioned to a lady sitting in a desk typing on what seemed to be a gold typewriter.
"Ah, Miss Moneyhoney, how are things?"
The lady giggled school-girlishly. "Oh, Jack," she said. "When will you grow up?"
The man smiled. "I didn't say anything even remotely juvenile or adorable."
"That doesn't mean I can't flirt with you now, does it," replied the lady who we can only assume is Miss Moneyhoney.
"Well no, but I'm married," he replied. "To an angry Russian," he added. "Who manages a prison. In Iraq. VOLUNTARILY."
"Oh, hush, let's make out," she said.
"Okay; I don't see any harm in that," he replied, as he leaned over and started making out with her.
Suddenly a lady wearing a solid-colored-one-piece outfit walked into the room. For a second she looked angry, but sure enough, broke into a smile as she observed Jack making out with his secretary. "Oh, Jack," she said. "You're so adorable and lovable. If only more men could be like you?-"
"Cheating on their wives?"
"Oh, that's codswallop! Your looks and muscular midsection cancel that out."
Jack laughed. "So they do, Judi Dench."
The lady laughed. "You're not supposed to be using my real name while I'm in character!"
"Well, I can't resist?-you're so beautiful!"
"Oh, Jack!" said Judi, leaning over and kissing Jack on the cheek. "Let's make out."
"Very well then," said Jack.
A man walked into the room wearing a stylish suit. Noticing the unfolding situation in his head, he snarled at Jack. "Oh, hello Jack. I see you're having trouble with the ladies again," he said sarcastically.
"What's your problem, Agent Remington?" asked Jack.
"You're the one with the problem!"
"And what might that be?"
"You have too many polygamous relationships and I want a piece of the pie!" shouted the man.
"Well nobody's stopping you! You can have Judi!"
"Very well then," responded Remington, who started making out with Judi.
Another man appeared in the doorway. "What the ****? Why the **** are you all *******? You're secret agents! Get a hold of yourselves!"
"In my defence," replied Jack, "they came onto me."
The man giggled. "Oh, Jack." He started making out with Jack. The increasing foreplay resumed and suddenly the power went out.
"Oh my god; the power went out!" shouted Remington.
"So?" asked Jack. "That doesn't mean we can't stop making out with these helpless individuals."
"Oh, I guess so."
Finally, another individual appeared at the doorway operating a wall-powered transportable device. He noticed the giant amount of men and women making out. "Okay, Jack, enough of your shenanigans," he said. He walked over to Jack and pulled him up by his ear. "You're supposed to be in Zurich in less than twenty minutes, and your plane left four hours ago."
"What's your point?" asked Jack, wincing.
"How are you supposed to stop the terrorists in Zurich if you're in Liverpool?"
"I can't! That's impossible!"
"That's what I've been trying to tell you!"
"Why didn't you tell me that my plane was leaving?"
"I did! I paged your cell phone, I wired a message to Moneyhoney, and I told Remington to come over and tell you."
"Well, surely you needed to try harder!" replied Jack. "I'm only human."
"You're a bloody secret agent, for god's sake!"
"So?"
"Enough! Go see S down in gadgets immediately."
"Immediately?"
"Yes. At once."
"Fine," sighed Jack, blowing a kiss at the man, Judi, and Moneyhoney. "I'll be back soon, my precious pumpkins."

Jack walked down to the gadget area of the building. "Hello, Jack," said S as Jack walked into the room.
"Hey, S," responded Jack.
"You were supposed to see me a while ago," said S. "I was really hoping you'd have come down on time?-"
"Yeah, well, we all want something," replied Jack.
"Grow up, Jack," said S.
"S, you suck," replied Jack. "Just give me my gadgets and I'll be on my way."
"Alright," said S. "To defeat the terrorists, you'll need a very complicated device. Without further ado, I present to you a limited edition S-Classic Grenade."
"Whoa!" said Jack. "A grenade!"
"Yes," said S. "But not just any grenade?-it's got all the usual refinements, you see?-well, uh, explode mode, and that's pretty much it."
"How do I work it?"
"You hit this special button that says 'Detonate' on it. I molded it from special Jargovian clay?-"
"Who cares about Jargovia?"
"Well, I heard ten years ago that they got this great new Prime Minister."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah."
"Hmm…"
"Apparently he's quite the evil fellow," said S.
"Great. Unfortunately I have to go to Zurich now."
"Jack, please don't destroy everything! Please bring back that grenade in tip-top shape."
"How do you expect me to do that? It's a grenade! Its whole point is to blow up! How can I use it and yet bring it back in one piece?"
"Oh, it's just a cliché," said S. "I say it every time."
"Ah," said Jack, "looks like I outta be hittin' the road."
"Oh!" said S. "There's one more thing I forgot to give you!" S pulled out a fancy contraption.
"What's this?"
"It's a doohickey," replied S.
"What's it do?"
"Stuff."
"Could you be more specific?"
"It does useful stuff."
"What's it called?"
"It's called an Auto Sunlight Beam Shooter," said S.
"And what's that do?"
"Oh god, can't you just play along for two seconds? It's a ******* flashlight!"
***
Fing had begun and finished the difficult process of selecting a new cabinet for his federal government. The new members were made up of a variety of French and Russian members. Their names were Pierre, Pter, Roberre, Robrecht, Francis and Fudd.
They were sitting around a table (this was because they were supposedly in a very important meeting to discuss the fate of healthcare in Jargovia) recounting jokes they had heard, been told, or experienced.
Meuchelmörder was talking. "And then there was the time I accidentally mistook the guy hiring me, for the guy I was supposed to assassinate!"
The room broke out in laughter. "Yes," said Fing, wiping a tear out of his eye, "that certainly turned out for the better, didn't it?"
Another round of laughter (which was helped along by another round of tequila).
"Oh, oh, guys…have you heard this one?"
"Which one?" inquired Meuchelmörder and Fing.
"Well, a black guy, a gay guy, a Jew, and an Arab walk into a bar run by KKK homophobic Nazi rednecks…."
***
Larry II woke up and looked around. Where was he? Why was he here? "Where am I?" he screamed. "Why am I here?"
A bunch of wandering idiots wandered idiotically towards Larry II. "Hey Larry," said one of the guys. "We've been looking all over for you!"
"What? Where am I?"
"You're in Jargovia, silly?-"
Larry II's plane must've coincidentally crash-landed in Jargovia. "That doesn't make sense," he said. "I had only been flying for a paragraph or so."
"And it was for the better," said one of the men. "If you had not crash-landed, mon ami, you would've flown right past Jargovia, oui oui! And then you might have crash landed on the mysterious cannibalistic island of Mongo!"
"Plarrgh," said Larry II.
"Plarrgh?"
"Yes, plarrgh," said Larry II. "It's an onomatopoeia."
"Yes, quite," said the man. "Now let's go get those evil democrats."
"What evil democrats? They were nice to me and are going to give my position back!"
"Oh, you haven't found that out yet?" asked the man. "Oh, gee, well, uh?-oo, look, here we are!" said the man. It was then that Larry II noticed they had been walking.
They were standing in front of a building Larry II knew all too well. A building he had been familiar with in his infancy, childhood, teenage years, and present. A building you could say he had been familiar with, you could say, his entire life. In fact, if he had not been familiar with this building his entire life, then not only would that be most suspicious, but the entire nature of reality would have to be called into play, given that the nature of reason had a sprained ankle and would be out for the season.
It was the Parliamentary Building of Jargovia Like Thing There, formerly Larry I's Palace, also known as the Jargovian Governmental building.
"Well, we might as well go inside," said Larry II. They went inside.

"…and that's how the Bloody Mary was invented!" said Pter, finishing his punchline.
Just then, Fing and the rest noticed the entrance of Larry II and his entourage of idiots. Fing looked at him. "Well, I think I know who you are," he said, motioning at Larry II, "but who the hell are all these idiots?"
Larry II looked at the idiots. "Oh, well," he said, gesturing to his left, "this is my alliterate, autistic, dyslexic friend, Rory. And this," he said, gesturing to his right, "is my longtime friend, mentor, and economic supporter, Aristotle."
"Hello," said Aristotle,
"Olleh," said Rory. "elbanoitseuq si redneg yM."
"Birds of a feather flock together," commented Fing, dryly.
"What was that?" asked Larry II.
"Oh, nothing," said Fing.
"I like Pokíng mons," pointed out Rory.
"Exactly," agreed Gazoo.
***
Jack left HQ, hopped into his car, and left for the airport. About halfway through the car ride, Jack's car phone rang and Jack picked it up. "Hello?"
"Hello," said the person.
"Hello?" asked Jack again.
"What? I said hello!"
"Who is this? I can't hear anything!" yelled Jack.
"Hello? Can you hear me?"
"What?"
"Can you hear me??"
"I seriously cannot hear anything anybody is saying on the other end of this line," said Jack.
"Hold on, I'll call back," said the man.
"What? I'm hanging up," said Jack. He hung up. The phone rang again. "Hello?"
"Hello?"
"Oh, hi; who is this?" asked Jack.
"It's somebody in Zurich," said the man. "And you'd better be listening. I have approximately thirty hostages under the supervision of my gun, and I swear I'm going to kill them?-"
"Go ahead, kill them; they mean nothing to me," said Jack in an effort to scare away the bad guy.
"Ok," said the man and put down the phone. Jack heard some gunshots and screaming, and then the man picked the phone up again. "I just shot…about twelve people."
"Oh, you did, eh?" asked Jack. "Prove it."
"How do I prove it?" asked the man.
"Well, it's quite obvious," said Jack.
"What?"
"I said it's quite obvious," said Jack. "You know, you're a pretty lousy terrorist."
"Who said I was a terrorist?"
"Well?-I assumed you were."
"Oh, is that right?"
"Quite."
"Well…I can assure you that twelve people are dead," said the man.
"Yeah, and I'm Woody Allan," said Jack. Jack still didn't think that the man was telling the truth. "Go ahead and shoot some more then?-they have as much significance to me as a mouse to a cat."
"If you say so," said the man. The phone was put down once again and some gunshots were heard. "There…I just killed another seventeen people," stated the man.
"You know I generally don't believe you," said Jack. The line beeped. "Oh, hold on, I have a call on the other line. Jack pressed the line switch button.
"Jack? Are you in Zurich yet?"
"No."
"Why aren't you there? We just received a report that thirty-two secret government agents were murdered!"
"Well what connection does that have with me?" asked Jack.
"The terrorist that we have on the line is telling us that you told the terrorist to shoot them!"
"Well I didn't actually tell him per se; if he got that from what I said then he really misinterpreted my meaning?-"
"What did you tell him then?"
"I told him that I don't care about the hostages and that he should shoot them."
"Exactly!"
"What?"
"You just admitted to telling the terrorist that you wanted them dead!"
"Well I didn't tell him to shoot them, I told him he should shoot them," said Jack. "It was his choice to take my words and use them as instructions."
The man giggled. "Oh, Jack, you're so adorable."
"Well, that tends to be how I act?-"
"Do you promise you won't let this happen again?"
"Not really."
The man giggled once more. "Oh, Jack, you're such a cute man." The line clicked and Jack switched to the terrorist on the phone.
"Hello?" asked Jack. The man had hung up. "Oh well," said Jack. "That's their problem, not mine." He continued driving to the airport, and when he got there, he snuck on a plane for Zurich.

A Number of Hours Later…

The moment Jack landed in Zurich he immediately took the money his organization had given him to live off of and figured he could triple it by gambling in a prestigious Zurichian casio rather than fending the terrorists.
Jack entered a plush casino and walked over to the baccarat table. It was then he noticed a rather unattractive female in her late thirties sitting in a chair, which accented her big bottom as well as her pale complexion, which she always claimed to be the result of her drinking too much Moonshine, but everybody knew it was because she was naturally pale-skinned; she just didn't like her natural complexion, so like any other politician would do, she blamed it on some other problem (which was coincidentally a type of mood-altering beverage ) and hoped for the better. However, she was not a politician and didn't have pale skin at all. Jack walked over to her.
"Wow, those are quite exquisite breasts," said Jack.
"Oh…thanks," said the lady.
"I'm sorry…what was your name again?" asked Jack.
"I didn't say it," said the lady. "Usually guys wouldn't say that sort of thing until we started the most remote sort of conversation."
"Well who said I hog the remote? You can hold it all you want, baby," replied Jack. The lady giggled and held out a hand.
"I'm Madame Oralle," she said.
"But this isn't France!"
"It's not not France," replied the Madame with a crazy expression on her face.
"Oh well," replied Madame. "Who might you be?"
"Oh…the name is Secret Agent Jack…Jack Lemons."
"Lemons?-that's an interesting name." Suddenly, for no other reason than character development, Lemons decided to arbitrarily flashback to a time when he was young…
"So, Agent Lemons, what do you want me to be when you're a grown-up?"
"I want to be an amnimationist."
"Ah. I'm not framiliar with an amnimationist. What do they do?
"They amnimate stuff."
"Neato. Well, what do you want to amnimate?"
"I want to amnimate amnimals!"
"Very good, Agent Lemons…"
"Yes, well you have quite the interesting name yourself, Miss Oralle," said Jack.
"Lemons?-Pronounced exactly like the citrus fruit?"
"Yes?-but don't think of me as a fruit," replied Jack. Madame Oralle giggled.
"Oh, Lemons?-your humour is so sublime," she giggled.
"And your humour isn't something I can't describe because you haven't used any yet…unless you are a completely dry person and have already used what you consider your comedic wits to try and impress me?-if that is the case, you have failed to impress me." She flung her top off.
"Do these impress you?"
"Not as much as your breasts do," replied Jack.
At that, Madame Oralle fell head-over heels for Jack. "Oh, Jack!" she said as tears streamed down her face. "I love you!"
"I as well," said Jack non-commitedly. " Let's move this up to the bedroom…"

The Next Morning…
In Jack's Apparent Bedroom…
Which We Never Saw Him Book…

The one thing Madame Oralle failed to mention during the casual conversation they had exchanged last night before they made mad and passionate love was that she was kind-of a secret spy as well, and her mission was to destroy Jack Lemons. Her whole costume and character had been fabricated?-mind you, her name, clothing, and personality remained unchanged. When Jack woke up the next morning, he opened his eyes to the barrel of a gun. "Freeze, Lemons," said Oralle.
"Uhh?-how?"
"What?"
"How?"
"What?"
"Never mind," said Jack. "Wow, last night was incredible. Looking into your eyes is like looking into a mirrored image of my eyes?-except they're not my eyes?-they're your eyes?-except they're not as pretty as my eyes?-"
"I get it!" shouted Oralle. "Say goodbye to your libido and say hello to my gun."
"Which are pretty much the same things," replied Jack.
"I was sent here to kill you?-"
"And I was sent here to get rid of the terror?-"
"But you can't get rid of them if I kill you?-"
"But I can if I kill you?-"
"Go ahead!"
"Okay." Jack took out his forty-four magnum (which was hidden under his mattress; seemingly he removed it without getting out of bed) and shot Oralle in the face. "Wow! You look like a JFK!"
Oralle fell to the bed, and, as if the whole situation weren't enough, exploded. "There's your morning-after," said Jack quipesquely. He left the hotel room.
***
"What do you want now?" demanded Evil Lord Prime Minister Fing of Larry II.
"The same thing I've wanted for eighteen years now!"
"Which is?"
"Arrgh! I want to be made Lord of the ******* Lords!"
"Well, I only have the power to make you Lord of the Lords. In order to be Lord of the ******* Lords, you'd have to talk to Russ Meyer, or possibly Hugh Hefner."
"Make me Lord of the Lords!"
"Well, tell you what: I will. But first you must go to Atlantis and bring back the corpse of a Dion. Which of course, is conveniently impossible given that Atlantis does not exist according to my Rand McNally-issue Atlas, and a Dion (if it does exist) would kill you on sight."
"But I did!"
"What!?"
"I went to Atlantis and I brought back a Dion!" exclaimed Larry II, holding out his plane ticket to Atlantis as well as his fabricated Dion.
"What the-****!" Fing mumbled to himself inconclusively. "Damn! Emergency huddle!"
Fing and the governmental officials conversed amongst themselves in a covert manner.
"He wasn't supposed to succeed in his quest!" exclaimed Fing. "He was supposed to conveniently die!"
"Don't blame us!" said the governmental officials. "We weren't around when you concocted this plan and thus aren't to blame!"
"Well, then you're damn lucky!" said Fing. "Okay, well what do we do?"
"Why don't we just refuse?"
"Just refuse?"
"Yes, just refuse. We tell him we won't let him be Lord of the Lords."
"But how do we justify that?"
"We're the federal government! We don't have to justify things!
"Good point."
Fing and his legitimate cronies turned back to Larry II and his illegitimate cronies. "Okay, we've decided on a plan."
"Are you going to make me Lord of the Lords?"
"Nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnno."
"What! Why?"
"Well, um, once you go democratic, you don't go back!"
"You used that lame excuse last time!"
"Fine, to tell you the truth, we just don't want to give up our power. So begone with the wind, before I behead you." Fing paused. "So, who has seen the wind lately anyway?"
Larry II and Co. left despondently, forced out by Fing's minions .
***
"Hmm…" thought Jack. "What do I have to do next?" He looked at his list.

Stuff to Do Today
· Go to Zurich
· Gamble away money at a prestigious casino and lose it all
· Meet a mysterious unattractive woman and make love with her in a hotel room you won't remember booking.
· Kill an unattractive woman.
Ø Could those last two things be a connection?
· Buy some giant oversized novelty olives at the Zurich Shoppe of Giant Oversized Novelty Olives
· Do some comparative shopping on toilet paper and compare the difference between two- and three-ply sheets.
· Build a birdhouse
· Eliminate terrorist threats in Zurich; they should all be in one central location because terrorists aren't very creative and deserve to be treated under the assumption that they won't actually accomplish anything.
· Practice Handwriting.
· Learn to PRIORITIZE things
· Pick up the latest issue Glam Magazine

The next item on Jack's list was to destroy all the terrorists stationed in and around Zurich. It really didn't require much effort at all; he simply walked in and killed them. "Wow…that was simplistic," he said. He left the location he found all the terrorists in. "And now, how do to dispose of them?…"



VII.
Larry II sat in a field, pouting. "Damn Fing! Now I'll never be Lord of the Lords!"
"I may have a button," consoled Rory.
"I believe what your friend is trying to say is that it doesn't matter what Fing says, and that you'll come out on top if you just have a plan," said a man emerging from the shadows of some nearby foliage.
"David!" exclaimed Larry II.
"Larry II!" exclaimed David.
"Man, I don't believe it! How did you find me? How'd you get here? What's this all about?"
"There'll be plenty of time to explain that later. But first, it looks like you and your friends are in a bit of trouble," said David.
"Uh, yeah," admitted Larry II, still aghast at the sudden appearance of his long-lost best friend David. "That damn Prime Minister Fing won't let me claim my rightful place as Lord of the Lords."
"Well then you'll just have to fight to reclaim your throne," pointed out David.
"Really? Something that melodramatic?"
"Yes, that's the only way to do it. But before you rush foot-long into it, you must come up with a plan."
"A plan?"
"Yes, a plan."
"What kind of plan?"
"A devious plan."
"A devious plan?"
"Yes, a devious, delectable, intelligible, mastermind of a plan!
♫A plan! You see must be
Smart and brave!

A plan! You see must be
Glib not grave!

Plans have to be planned out,
To the last detail
If they're not you end up in
Jail.♫"
Realising that the story had just broken into song, Larry II joined in.

"♫A plan! I see has to be
Great and chic!
A plan! I see has to be
Bold not meek!

Planning is hard to do, ya
So we'll need some allies and miscellaneous diagrams, ya…♫"
Larry II and David both sang simultaneously.
"♪Because planning
Is hard to
Doooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!♪"
"Yay! Song!" exclaimed Rory.
***
Jack Lemons was growing tired. He was fighting an evil agent of some sort on top of a burning 747 thousands of miles above the atmosphere while trying to eradicate crazy teenage mutant ninja turtles off of his leg. "It appears we meet again, Lemons," said his opponent. "I see you eluded the clutches of my clutch?-until I clutched you and brought you aboard my whimsical plane of death."
"You are crazily insane," remarked Jack.
"Either that, or insanely crazy!" laughed the opponent evilly.
"You'll never win, Elmo!" screamed Jack.
"Oh, is that what my name is?" asked the opponent.
"Yes. You are known widely around the world as Elmo."
"Great," replied Elmo. "Let's get this over with."
Lemons took out a rocket launcher and shot it at Elmo, but Elmo deflected it with a trash can cover. Jack redeflected it with a shiny metal object but Elmo deflected it back as well. The rocket got confused, exploded, and hurt them both. "****!" screamed Elmo. "I knew I shouldn't have trusted Big Bird with those demolitions!"
Jack took this as an opportunity and ran over to Elmo. He began tickling him. "Stop that! You know it's my only weakness!"
"You'll never win," said Jack, fending off another turtle from snapping at his crotch.
"Oh, the hell I will!" screamed Elmo. Elmo took out a pocket blade and started slashing at Jack.
"Luckily I softened the compounds in that blade and turned them into air when you slashed at me," said Lemons, taking a swing at Elmo.
"Oh, it's by hand now, is it?" asked Elmo. "Elmo can deal."
Elmo punched Jack in the torso. Jack cast a binding spell on Elmo and tried pushing him off the side of the plane but Elmo counteracted by casting a better ambiguous spell on Jack.
"How can you cast a better spell? I cast Morgan Priden's Faithful Watchdog before we started!" complained Nathan.
"No you didn't! I asked you if you wanted to cast anything before this turn and you said no!" replied Daniel.
"But I have a +12 secret agent!"
"Not yet! You haven't finished upgrading yet! So deal with my +17 Sesame Street Character's spell!"
"But I cast Morgan Priden's Faithful Watchdog!"
"No, you didn't!"
"Okay, fine! I dodge your crappy spell!"
"Are you finished your homework?" yelled Daniel's Mom from upstairs.
"For the seventh time YES! Anyway, my +17 Red Puppet intones
"Your crappy dodging will never stop me!"
"Oh, you big red blob of CBS profit!" yelled Jack.
"You're nothing but a clichéd action hero from the sixties!"
"I am not! I am that character in which you speak of, only with a modern, zany twist!"
"Oh, like I give a flying ****," responded Elmo.
"You just said the 'F' word!"
"Hehehe, it's pretty coincidental how I said 'fly' when we're atop a burning 747 now, isn't it?" asked Elmo.
"I guess so." Elmo took another swing at Jack, this time in the kidney.
"Ow, my kidney!" shouted Jack.
"Talk about rhetorical," said Elmo.
"What?" asked Lemons. That did it. "You're making me angry, Elmo."
"What's it matter?"
"You wouldn't like me when I'm angry." With that, Jack took out a lightsaver and introduced it to Elmo. "This is a lightsaver?-the most deadly weapon and candy combination every created?-"
"Yes, we already know what it was; it was introduced in Part the First! My only choice is to counteract, which I have done so many times already!" Elmo took out a weapon that looked basically the same. "This," said Elmo, "is a lifesaber. It's better than a lightsaver because it's less conservative and thus uses more whoopass?-"
"Look! Behind you!" shouted Lemons.
"You think I'm going to fall for that?"
"Well just read ahead and see."
"All right," said Elmo, taking out a thick leather-bound book. "Let's see?-wait a minute! This is a trick to get my head down on the paaaaaaaaaaaaage?-" Lemons shoved Elmo off the edge of the 747.
"I've got your Elmo ABC's," said Jack. He took out a piece of paper.

Elmo ABC'S
Elmo + Airplane = Bad Combination.

Jack skydived off the airplane without a parachute just before it crashed, and freefell through the sky, hoping to land on a convenient thing.
***
Larry II realised that if he were going to reclaim the throne and defeat Fing he would need lots of allies. So, he decided to call together all of the friends he had made in his travels. And he got them. Twenty of them. He called them his Infamous Twenty Allies Of Freedom.
How did he get these allies, you might be wondering? Why, he put an ad in Reader's Digest for anyone who strongly disliked Fing to join his cause.
The 20 Allies met in an abandoned warehouse south of the Old Wharf. It was dark, and the only lighting was a single lamp hanging above a dramatically rectangular table with a blueprint of the Governmental buildings on them.
Larry II took role call. "Call out your name, allies, and list your grievances against Prime Minister Fing."
Rory stood up. "My name is Rory and I hate Fing because his lack of funding in the educational program has been responsible for my autism slipping as far down hill as it has."
"Anything else, Rory?"
"I eat purple."
"Thank you. Next?"
The blind man from pages 103-104 stood up. "I am a blind man and I hate Fing because he discriminated against me and shot my dog."
The blind man's dog stood up and barked out his grievances.
Amelia Earhart stood up. "I'm Amelia Earhart, sweet thangs, and I am a good ally of my friend Larry II over there, and any enemy of my baby Larry II is an enemy of mine."
"Hey, wait a minute?-" pointed out Larry II. "Didn't I kill you?"
"Not that I can recall, shug."
"Oh."
Toby stood up. "My name's Toby and I'm against Fing because, um, I'm Atlantean, and um, well, I'm Amelia's love child. There! I said it!"
"Wait a tic?-" interrupted Larry II. "I killed you too!"
"Yes, but it was such a random killing and it was so long ago I'm sure most readers have forgotten it enough that I can reappear without much of a fuss."
"Oh."
The Jamaican guy stood up. "Aeeeeey, mon! I be da Jamaican man, ya mon! Me be not likin da Fing guy because he be no Jamaican man, mon!"
"Okay, now I know I killed you for sure!"
"Hey, mon! Do ya or do ya not be wantin the aalies, mon?"
"I do want them."
"Den no more poytin owt da plot holes, mon!"
"Oh. Next?"
Wesakechak stood up. "How. I am Wesakechak, and I am an alcoholic."
Larry II slapped himself. "This asshole? Again? Arrgh! This is NOT A.A., Wesakechak!"
"I know. I was listing my grievances against Fing."
"What?"
"Because of Fing's ignorance of the plight of the Native American, I was forced to become an alcoholic many moons ago, which led to my frequent job-hopping."
A balding, greasy, fat man in overalls carrying a mop stood up. "Hello. I'm Wallace the janitor. I don't like Fing because he beheaded my brother."
Shamus stood up. "I'm Shamus O'Toole, hoity, toity, toi, doncha know? I be not liking Fing because he took me arm, and me leg, and me other arm, and me other leg, and me other arm, and me other leg and left me to die on the rocks of Nova Scotia. Luckily, I managed to escape to Serpentonia, where I became a bush pilot."
"Ahem," said Larry II, "I asked for the reason you hate Fing, not your life story,"
"You'll never get me lucky charms," said Shamus.
John Olliver stood up. "You ever notice that Fing's a real jerk? Hi

Part the Fourth
"Yeah, but if Amelia, Toby, the Jamaican guy, and the blind man's dog can be not dead, then the same should logically go for us!"
Frank stood up. "What they said."
The Russian cafeteria lady stood up. "Vello, my nameink is Irma Schlotzrbrauskgrad. Vi be hatingink Fingink vecause he make lovink to Baba Yaga 45 years agoink."
"Wait a minute!" exclaimed Larry II, "that means Baba Yaga is my?-"
Aristotle stood up, identified himself, and listed his grievances.
David stood up. "Hi, it's me, David! I don't like Fing all that well!"
Suddenly, John A. MacDonald, George Washington, Robert Walpole, and Vladimir Lenin burst into the room. "Sorry we're late! Are we too late? We hate Fing too!"
Larry II pondered. "Yeah, umm, I'd love to let you guys in, but then that breaks my perfect round number of 20 allies, so you can't really be here," said Larry II as he shot the now useless four politicians, effectively making it so they can no longer appear in the book anymore (logically speaking, of course).
And so, with his 20 Allies assembled, Larry II began to plan his plan.
"Alright, this is the plan. In order to reclaim my throne, we will have to topple Fing. That's about all I got. David, any ideas?"
David stepped forward. "So glad you asked, Larry II. In order for Larry II to become Lord of the Lords, we must carry out a plan that is both physical and psychological. Thusly, we must not only topple Fing and his corrupt regime, but we must also have the support of the people behind us. Since Fing's refusal of Larry II's desire to be Lord of the Lords is completely illegal and evil, getting the support of the people shouldn't be difficult once we alert them of our plight. I'll have Aristotle get working on writing some pamphlets entitled What Has Been Done and pass them out among the populace. Then, while the people grow to love your cause, we shall gather all the supplies necessary for our assault on Fing's castle. Bob, Bobo, Peter, Pete, and Frank? That'll be your job. After that, we will infiltrate Fing's lair here, here, and here, coming in undetected through the ventilation system. The guards will not stop us because our resident pilots, Amelia, Shamus, and Wesakechak, will be napalm bombing them from above. This will provide us with a distraction. The rest of you except Larry II and me will serve as "commandos", in other words, expendable cannon fodder, and wipe out any resistance we might encounter. Larry II will then corner Fing in his chambers and demand his surrender. He will set himself up in his rightful place as Lord of the Lords, make me Minister of Interior Decorating, and give the rest of you who survive cushy jobs. After Larry II is declared Lord of the Lords, he will need not worry about further coup attempts, because due to our earlier propaganda, the people will be behind him one hundred percent."
"But we don't have anyone here who's an expert at covertly and stealthily breaking into a place unnoticed, someone unkillable. We'll need one of those," pointed out Toby.
Larry II thought. "I know just the guy!" he exclaimed. He rushed to a phone and dialled 011-39-6-6982. "Damn! The Pope's not in tonight! I'll have to call someone else." He dialled (202) 456-1414. "Drat! The President of the United States is having dinner!" He thought. "Wait! I know who!" He dialled 09091-234-234. The phone rang. It rang some more. It clicked. Larry II began speaking.
"Hello??-Well, I'd like to speak with him,?-What do you mean, clearances? I'm an old frien?-no, no, I haven't heard any word from Nantucky?-what do you mean the grass is bluer on the first side?-oh, I get it, this is some sort of?-uh-huh?-yes, yes, I have, but, well?-okay, um?-oh, he's in the area, then, is he??-uh-huh?-uh-huh?-okay, send him in!"
Suddenly, with an explosive blast that resoundingly resounded throughout the foundations of the warehouse, Secret Agent Jack Lemons fell through the thatch ceiling and landed dramatically on his feet in front of Larry II.
"Secret Agent Jack Lemons at your service," he said, dusting himself off.
"Oh, Jack!" said Amelia, with a look in her eyes that told you this was who she meant when she had been saying things like "sweetheart" all this time. She began making out with him.
"Well, actually, I'd called for a Dominoes Pizza, but you'll do fine," said Larry II.
Larry II let Jack in on the plan and he began adding his own expertise to it.
Then, something occurred to Larry II. "Wait! If Jack's helping us, I don't have exactly 20 Allies anymore." He looked around for someone to kill and shot the blind man's dog.
"Damnit!" said the blind man. "That's the second time in a month!"
Soon, the Dominoes Pizza arrived and the real work could begin.
***
"So," said Meuchelmörder conversationally, "I wonder what that crazy Larry II is doing?"
Fing chuckled, for he was unbeknownst of Larry II's plan. "Probably making out with his ambiguously gendered autistic friend Rory,"
Fing and Meuchelmörder laughed long into the night.
***
In celebration of the formation of the plan, Larry II and his 20 Allies headed off to a local pub to get enormously drunk.
On their way they encountered an old beggar on the road, who was wearing a mysterious gold medallion around his neck. Larry II had his allies kill the beggar and steal the medallion, which they afterwards pawned off for a new boom box with which to play blaring nonsensical ghetto music on their way to the pub.
They entered the pub, which was full of loud Irish folk music, and drunken men and women (most of them amusingly nude) dancing on tables in a folky sort of manner.
"Wow, I wonder how much drinks for all of us will cost in a extravagant establishment like this?" wondered Larry II aloud.
"Oh, don't worry about it," said the bartender, "I know/am the guy who runs this place, so drinks're on the house,"
"Good, good," said David, trying to reaffirm his importance in the minds of the readers.
Larry II and his 20 Allies wandered over to the bar and sat down.
"So," said the bartender, washing a mug, "wat'll it be?"
"I'll have the strongest beer and/or other alcoholic beverage you have," said the 20 Allies all at once.
"Well, waste your life away!" said Larry II, "I heard drinking those could give you alchohol poisoning and you could die! I'll have one safe glass of lemonade."
"Right," said the bartender with obvious contempt, "20 beers, and 1 glass of lemonade, coming right up."
The 20 Allies blissfully drank their beers. Larry II took a sip of his lemonade.
"So, in order to defeat Fing we'll have to?-" Larry choked on the lemonade, which was sour, and died.

And so, before Larry the Second could carry out his plan to reclaim the throne of Jargovia that was so rightfully his, he choked on a Glass of Sour Lemonade and died. And so endeth Book the First.