Friday, August 19, 2011

Part 31

"Oh yes!" chimed in Tom Jones, who was seated on a zebra striped settee, "I even brought my hero pants! They're the ones I wear to wash my car when nobody is looking."
"Glorious!" sang Bowie who was pouring a steamy, hot pink beverage from a, Bo thought, somewhat phallic decanter into three goblets that looked like noses. "I'm sure they are groovy to the five hundredth degree, but alas, my little piglets, that is why you are here."
He glided to the weary travelers, goblets in hand, as if he were on wheels. Bo took a sip from the cup he was handed and immediately fell into a spasm of cosmic euphoria. He quickly glanced over at Tom who had chugged the beverage faster than the little engine that could and had consequently leapt to his feet and was in the throws of performing a rather risque Irish jig.
"Duckies," said Bowie, who had assumed the lotus position and was floating around the room, avoiding Tom's flying legs, "I have given you my elixir of groove. It is a sad, sad beast of a pretty boy that I'm about to share with you and I want you in tip top spirits"
"Zip-a-dee-do-dah zip-a-de-ay, my oh my what a wonderful day..." howled Tom.
"You see... hahahaha!!! See... hahaha!!! Get it? See? No? Oh, well, you'll get it in a moment. Maybe not. I forgot you were punaphobes... anyway... see this eyes so blue? One of the mysteries of the world, my left eye is. People have analyzed it, come up with theories, lost sleep, gone insane, someone once tried to smother me with my own bed because of it... now that's what I call eye-nemosity. No? Well then... my point is that the truth is much grimmer, much more dastardly and horrible than the world could possibly comprehend. But my dear little pickle bottom, you and yippy skippy over there have proven to me that more than capable of heavy du'y business... I've been watching you in my crystal ball... I've seen your journey thus far and I know in my heart that you are the only ones capable of giving me what I most desire."
Bo, grinning like a drunken maniac from the elixir of groove began to speak in a cheery voice, "Ziggy, old buddy, old pal! What do you want us to do? Just say the word, mate, and we'll be there in a twinkle!"
Bowie grinned and floated closer to Bo. "I want you to bring me my eye back, Bo. The goblins stole it and replaced it with the orb you see before you. It has been the woe of my life, this eye... it was custom made to make clothes invisible to the beholder."
Bo choked on his beverage, his face turning a bright shade of red. He was unsure if this was because of the fiery liquid racing down his windpipe; the fact that David Bowie could and was seeing him in his full, porky, glory; or out of despair that the mystical emperor of glam could not admire and complement him on his exotic pairing of metallic purple go go boots with polka dotted felt bodysuit.
"Yes," said Bowie, sadly, "It was taken from the custom-made-body-part-workshop of Howard Stern."

Wednesday, July 27, 2011

Part 30

Our young hero gulped hard, sweat washing over his face like salty spring rain. Growing up, he had heard tales of the mystical Bowie castle, stories of children being taken away in the night to the lair and having eyeballs torn painfully from their sockets, only to be replaced by elegant and undoubtedly very expensive jewels. Stories of having your flesh stripped and re-upholstered with bizarre and vibrantly patterned animal pelts. Stories of martian arachnids eating your face, leaving behind only the shape of a lightning bolt. It was a god awful large affair.

Bo sighed, "It's like a labyrinth in here," looking around quizzically. No sooner did the words escape his sweaty, grease-stained lips than did a brilliant puff of rainbow-colored, glittery smoke fill the area directly in front of our travellers. Through it walked an androgynous, tanned snow-white, and fashionably-minded being with a hairstyle that obviously never got the memo that the 80's was over.

"Greetings" the figure bellowed, shaking the very foundation they all seemed to be standing on. He gazed upon Bo and K Jax with a discriminating air. His once solemn glare brightened, seeming pleased with what he saw and confirmed it with a gleeful "Oh, you pretty things! You must come in. How I do loooOooove having guests over!" A weary wave of relief cautiously washed over our heroes, and although Tom didn't consciously know it, he had wished something more substantial would wash Bo.

"M-Mr. Bowie.." began Bo, only to be interrupted, "Please, my boy, call me Ziggy, or Starry D. Mister Bowie is my dad's name. He was a knife. He split up with my mother, no pun intended. It's a miracle I'm even here today!" Bo was briefly disgusted by the implications this carried and secretly hoped that the whimsical man would not make any further attempts at punnery. As his mind was slowly congealing this thought, Ziggy gasped and flounced, "What do you mean you didn't like my pun? It seems my taste in puns is not so sweet. Very well, I'm just happy to have you here! Come, join me for some light snacks!" With snacks now on his mind, Bo vibrated happily.

Kangy and Bo followed their host through winding corridors made completely of what appeared to be cocaine-brick and mortar, up flights of stairs that clearly harboured no interest in obeying the laws of physics, through a room with two doors each manned by one of two identical and equally irritating guards, across an unimaginably large snowflake, and into Ziggy's living room, which was large and very-much forgotten by the 1970's. In fact, it was so much so that even the shag carpet was velour. 

"Now," exclaimed the oddity who very well may have been from space, "I understand that you fellows would like to be heroes, even if for just one day."

Saturday, July 16, 2011

Part 29

“Bo” Said Tom Jones, shaking the overweight monk. “BO! Wake up! You must have taken too many vicodin! You fell asleep before I could finish my thought!”
“Wha…what?” Bo said groggily as he forced his eyes to open.  Everything was a bit blurry at first as his eyes slowly went into focus.
“You must have been having a bad dream about an all you can eat buffet that ran out of food, because..”
“What? What’s going on? Where are we?”  Bo looked down to see the box full of his ingredients now seeping through the sides of the box. “Wait…so we aren’t about to have our souls eaten by some cloaked figure with poor English”
“Boy…you are crazy like a shoe” Tom belted out in a sort of sing-songy black preacher man voice.  Bo looked at the singer puzzled, then remembered that Tom was about to reveal the secrets of the box.
“Kangaroo Jim! Tell me, what did the box show you!”
“Oh…right….thaaaaaaaat” Tom whispered ominously.  They sat there in silence as the now hungry Bo was staring at Tom, wishing for him to get on with his thought so they could have lunch. About thirty seconds later, Bo blurted out
“Tom! Will you just spill it! I’m famished!”
“Oh really? What’s new, pussy cat?”  Pleased with himself, Tom ripped open his shirt to expose his chest hair.  He opened his mouth to sing, but before he could even take a breath, Bo bellowed
“DAMN IT TOM! WE DON’T HAVE MUCH TIME!  Repeat to me what you were going to say before I passed out!”  Tom crept closely to the edge of the bed where Bo lay and said
“Your precious missing jar is inpossible to find without the help of David Bowie”
“Tom, I’m pretty sure it’s pronounced IMpossible”
“No no no, my dear boy.  INpossible.   This is David Bowie we’re talking about.  It’s inpossible with the help of Bowie”
“What” Bo snarled out “You just said it was impossible without his help!”
“No, I said INpossible.  With Bowie, everything seems possible, and nothing is what is seems!”
“I don’t even…whatever….can we just get some lunch and head out?”

The next day, they approached David Bowie’s castle.  It was covered in glitter with sharp towers that seemed to have no way in or out.
“Wait” Tom said, reaching into a bag. “You can’t enter The Bowie Kingdom without these”  He handed Bo a pair of tight leather pants and instructed them to put them on.  

A few minutes later, the pair of tight leather clad men were walking through the front door.
 When Bo saw what lay before them he began to nervously sweat.  The two men were faced with a myriad of stair cases.  Some leading up, some leading down, some that had no real purpose at all.  The thing that baffled Bo the most were the stair cases that were upside down.  
“Well” Tom started “Where would you like to start?”

Wednesday, July 6, 2011

Pt. 28


There was a moment of awkward silence as Bo spontaneously hit puberty.

"Well then... um...  maybe we should get a box for this..." Tom said, indicating to their untouched meal.

As the weary travelers headed onward, Bo began to sense an accumulating wave of foreboding in the air... something was going to happen.
"Kangaroo Jim, do you think we should stop somewhere for the night?" he asked.
"Little boy kitty, I do believe that's an excellent idea! Where to?" replied Tom.
"Well, I was thinking we could stop in at the local tourist bureau and see if anyone there could tell us about a nice bed and br--- GAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!"
Out of the blackness of night sprung a cloaked figure, and gripping Bo by the neck and Tom by the chest hair, swung them in a high arc into the back seat of a horse-drawn hearse. Springing into the drivers seat, the mysterious figure took up the reigns and sent the coach whizzing into the black abyss of a starless night.
" This sure is one owl of a pot pie!" cried Bo, as he clung to his newly rebooted gut for dear life.
"I'd say it is!" Chirped Tom Jones, "If ever two cats on a way to the races were to be glued to the windshield and ran out into the storm, this is it!"
"Eye-eye-eye-eye..." began the driver before Tom Jones cut in,
"...Knee! Oh boy, this is a fun game!"
"Eye say, where da bloody bang farting blowtorch'd you boys say yous come from?" asked the cloaked figure.
"You watch your language, mister!" Snapped Tom Jones.
"We're going to... er... Nantucket... to um... sail... boats... we're sailors," said Bo.
"Well den! Dat's a right bloody fluffy fish of a profession!" said the cloaked figure, making conversation.
"Listen here, mister Tutti Frutti," said Tom Jones, rising to his feet, then sitting back down when he found the crouching position he could assume less threatening than he had originally anticipated, "I'd like you to stop using language like that! It is offensive and rude and ads little or nothing to the efficiency of the point you are trying to express! If you do not comply, I may have to become cross with you!"
"W-w-w-w-w-ell don'tchew be a bone busting bag of barf! I taught chew was a bleedin sailor!"
"I like to maintain an air of professionalism in my conversation, so as to make up for the generally tarnished reputation of a my profession's dialect. GUMDROPS!!!!!!"
"Eye-eye-eye-eye-eye beg yer bleedin pardon?"
"Why'd yewe just say bloody gumdrops to me?"
"I didn't."
"Yes you bleedin' did, Eye 'erd it wit me own ears!"
"Then your ears are full of leprechauns because I most definitely did not say..."
"Enough!" cut in Bo. "Sir, we do so appreciate the ride, but perhaps you could let us off in a bit. You see, my... matey... and I are... um... looking to batten down the hatches in a... um... land... galley..."
"Eeee, donchew worry 'bout dat, bloody 'elephant! Me and SHAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRROOON, da missus, be fixin ya a right cozy cuppa before we SLAUGHTER YOU AND EAT YOUR SOULS... er... give yewe a nice bit a rest."
"Oooh! I'd like that!" said Tom Jones, who had found a catalog under the seat and was looking at pictures of standing mixers.

Thursday, June 30, 2011

Pt. 27

"I really wish we didn't have to do this," Bo grunted as he slowly heaved his generous frame onto the motorized cart Tom Jones had brought to him at the edge of the parking lot, where the bus had let them off. By the time the young monk was settled in his seat, Tom was already a good fifteen yards ahead of him, gleefully pushing a regular cart in a serpentine pattern, narrowly missing a parked brown sedan after trying to challenge a twelve-year-old to a backwards shopping cart race.

Once within the unholy depths of Wal-mart, Bo managed to gather all of the items on the list before he ran into Tom again. He found him in the pets section, having what looked to be a heated debate with the fish, about the welfare system. The fish appeared to remain unconvinced. Actually, to be fair, the fish didn't seem to understand what was happening at all, or why random items were being thrown into their tanks as "visual aids".

"Tom, I've got the ... ingredie--items. Let's go - leave that cart there, we can't afford - and definitely don't need - all of that stuff." Tom's cart was filled nearly to overflowing with women's plus-sized jogging suits, children's novelty sunglasses, two magic 8 balls, a couch cushion from a piece of display furniture, various and sundry office supplies, three Toblerones and a Hanson cd. "Except for the chocolate, grab those." Bo added.

The pair nearly got thrown out when Tom Jones kept trying to get a price on his chest at the self check-out, but the boy managed to distract him by claiming to have seen a doo-wop group in the parking lot. Bo was disturbed beyond words when he exited the store to find Tom singing with a couple of homeless gentlemen.


"Do you think this will work?" Tom asked, squatting in front of the box as he dumped the yogurt in. Bo was still a bit tender from his recent surgeries as well as exhausted from their shopping trip, so he was just observing the experiment from his perch atop the bed. "I ... nothing surprises me anymore." Bo replied, shaking his head.
Tom continued adding ingredients, one after another, until everything on the list was inside the box, and the crotch of his pants was splattered liberally with yogurt, milk, ice cream and egg. "I think I might have added the block of cheddar last, Bo." Tom mused. The boy squeeked painfully in reply, stiffling a guffaw. "Close the box, Tom." Bo ordered. Tom Jones dutifully closed the box. "Now open it!" Bo said breathlessly. Tom lifted the lid and peered inside.

"Well? What do you see?" the young monk asked impatiently.

The deeply tanned crooner began to sing, "Up north where the snow grows colder, I travel onward 'cross the border--"

"Christmas cake!" Bo interrupted. "What the freshly-washed handkerchief are you babbling about this time?"

"It's quite simple, my dear boy," Tom replied, gesturing toward the box, "your precious missing jar is in...

Friday, June 24, 2011

Part 26

a raging, paralyzing case of gut rot. Bo's rotund hoagie boiler, it would seem, had finally had enough. It endured, unceasingly, a miserable and arbitrary pattern of hoagie enjoyment, intertwined with seemingly infinite periods of grease-soaked reminiscence of said hoagies. The young monk's tummy-tums would have no more of this nonsense, it decided. Bo doubled over and collapsed. The last words to escape his wanton lips before everything went black could faintly be heard, "i regret not a single sandwich..."

Yogurt. Blackness. Darkness. Milk.
Nothingness. Kix. Void. An ambiguously dead/alive cat.

Has our hero's unscrupulous disregard for dietary health finally caught up with him?

Not if Kangaroo Jim has anything to say about the matter.

A sudden rush of pain overwhelmed Bo's senses who, quite frankly, were perfectly content existing in a vacuous plane of numbness. This made it all the much more difficult for our hero's battered and abused mind to cope with all the sensory information he was once again experiencing.

Needless to say, it didn't do Bo any favours as his eyes gradually focused on what hovered atop him. A large bald-eagle, with white leather tassels in place of feathers, large cubic zirconia in place of eyes, and a pair of Pringles chips arranged in the vague shape of a beak in place of a...beak.

The majestic animal proceeded to gracefully devour it's own salty beak, slap Bo across the face swiftly, and take a sip of the coke it just ordered.

Bo was having a bit of trouble putting all this together, and with all the grace and style of  piece of roadkill stuck under a car carrying two teenagers making out for the first time, mused rather loudly, "What the FU-" "Fun, fun, fun!" Kangaroo Jones announced, tearing off his makeshift surgeon outfit and adding, "Yes, sir, performing a quadruple-bypass and emergency stomach flush in a questionably hygienic environment with nothing but basic bartending tools on a Friday night is my idea of fun, fun, fun!" It is worth noting that this was said with all the seriousness that someone willing to perform open heart surgery in the middle of a sketchy bar, wearing a giant eagle mask can possibly muster.

Bo, understandably, was still groggy and his mind was working as hard as it could (not so hard) to fill in what seemed to him to be an eternity's worth of blanks. After a long while, Bo finally summoned the courage to speak. "Is this-" "Yes," Jim "Tom" Jones blurted out, "You'll be fine. I'm sure that's the question you were going to ask," and in a moment of inexplicable Kangaroo Klarity, Tom "Jones" Jim made his best attempt to further the plot line through insightful dialogue.

"My dear boy, I'd love to explain to you how I was able to perform a complicated surgery, successfully, under the worst conditions possible, but I am afraid that there is yet work to be done! We must decipher the meaning of this shopping list! It starts with milk, an-"

Bo gasped loudly, memories of his delicate dance with death rushing back to him. "Milk! I've got it! It isn't a shopping list at all. It came to me while I was dead...dying...err..or whatever. It was all so clear to me after everything went black. It is a list of ingredients, for a powerful potion. We must put all these ingredients in a box - and close the box. Inside, it will have precisely a 50% chance of being the correct formula which will serve as the necessary component to lead us to the missing jar. We will not know whether it is the correct formula until we observe it."

"Great googly moogly!" Timmity "Kangaroo Tune" Jonesey exclaimed dramatically, "That's just crazy enough to work! So, where do we get all these seemingly random items necessary for a complex quantum physics experiment?"

A dark and foreboding look cast across Bo's sweaty face. With a deep sigh, he uttered the words...


Friday, June 17, 2011

Part 25

Bo looked up at the beet clad woman and began to open his mouth.  Before he could even force a sound out, Tom had leapt onto the table in a frantic scurry, knocking over the bowl of beet dip that Anna had brought out with her.   He began to do what resembled a river dance, and spewed something from his mouth that sounded much like the strange ramblings of a southern Baptist minister who had been taken over by the spirit.  He finished his strange dance with a triple back tuck and the “pew, pew, wink” move.  Anna mimicked his “pew, pew, wink” and rushed into the kitchen. How he managed that triple back tuck without cracking his head on that flail completely perplexed Bo, but he had become accustomed to the strange while on this journey. Tom turned to Bo and said
“I just ordered us two cokes”
Bo gave him a puzzled look and pulled out the note.
“….Kangaroo Jim, we need to find out what this note means.  It’s got to be related to why the other jar is missing!”  
Both men had come to the conclusion that it must be some sort of acronym, but an acronym for what, and how were they going to find out what it meant?  Seconds later, a mysterious man with bilateral torn rotator cuffs walked up to their table and said
“I think I can solve your mystery, boys.”
Bo’s eyes lit up like the first time he ever saw a hoagie.  Then his mouth started to salivate because he couldn’t stop thinking about that very first hoagie and how oh so special it was, and how much it changed his life and his waistline and how everything was surreal each and every time he took a bite.  The man was expanding upon each letter of the acronym, but Bo didn’t hear him, all he could hear was the rustle of the wax paper as you tore open a freshly made hoagie, dripping with vinegar end to end.  Bo finally snapped out of his greasy coma to hear this mysterious man finish by saying
“And that’s why we can’t have nice things!”
With that, the man was gone in a puff of beet dust. Bo turned to Tom, who at this point was admiring his own chest hair in a small, my little pony pocket mirror.
“You don’t think I need to wax this, right?  I mean, the ladies love a lit..”
“Forget about that! What did bilateral torn rotator cuff guy say about the note and what M I C K E Y meant!” Blurted Bo
“Note? He didn’t say anything about a note.  He just recited his shopping list, Milk, Icecream, Cheese, Kix, Eggs, and Yogurt, then started babbling about quantum physics”
“Hush poppet” Whispered Bo.
In that instant, it hit him…