Pt. 16

Freddy Mercury's gaze drifted slowly back to the portly young monk, a tangible look of irritation lingering on the dead rock star's immaculately chiselled face, which disappeared quickly once he laid his eyes upon the axe² curled up in Bo's generous fleshy rolls, gripping it awkwardly with hands so greasy that a pan of bacon would be jealous.

"My boy," voiced Mercury with a tone of severity rivalled only by the hit performance of 'Who Wants to Live Forever' in a previous life. "If you truly are willing to make the journey to the treasure you seek, you have not made a mistake in bringing that hard-rocking beast of a weapon you've got there." Bo wondered, if not hoped, that Freddy Mercury was making the move on him that he dreamed of for so many years as a younger monk, but quickly traced the star's shimmering eyes towards the axe in the grip of his sweaty, struggling fingers. Our hero's poignant confusion knows no end. With a hearty sigh, he pushed his turmoil aside and decided to advance the absurd plot line.

"What do you mean? I can't even play a guitar."

"Yes, my dear boy, you can. It is ingrained deep within your heart, in much the same way all that cholesterol is. Have you considered seeing a doctor? You don't look well."

Bo crumpled his face up and with great focus, put his right pinkie finger in his left ear and dug around for a moment. Satisfied with the results, he continued "I'm fine; I'm just hungry. Does this fabulously decorated cave have a deep fryer, perchance? Nevermind, look at your waistline, you must be subsisting off moss. What do you mean it's ingrained? What will I need this for? I figured Brother Platinum was just resolving his tendencies as a hoarder, and had no better use for it."

No sooner did the words fumble clumsily out of the monk's mouth, when out of thin air, Platinum materialized in front of the indescribably [but I'm really making the effort] unfortunate-looking monk, slapped him square across the face, and disappeared as quickly as he came without a single word. It can't be proven, but to this day Tom Jones, Freddy Mercury and Severus share a silent, mutual agreement that they witnessed a fine mist of grease released from Bo's face as he fell victim to abuse under preposterous circumstances. Bo frowned as he wondered why about one third of his life seemed unnecessarily cruel and ludicrous to him.

"Deary," Freddy voiced with perfect pitch, "Great danger awaits you before you may find what you require. Far away in the repugnant, hellish wastelands of Abbey Road, you'll find a very powerful enemy protecting what you seek. He reigns over this horrid nightmare with infinite despicable loathsomeness. You will know you are close when your senses are assaulted by the debilitating scent of patchouli, poorly grown marijuana and death. The enemy you seek is the reanimated corpse of John Lennon. The glare from his lifeless, spectacle'd eye sockets can melt your brain so fast, that you can't even Imagine. Defeat him, and the fabled arm of Rick Allen will be yours. You will also be free to choose the fate of his hoards of zombie hippies."

Bo's sweaty eyeballs had a thick glaze over them, not because he was imagining a tantalizing, deep fried donut with the very same glaze, but he was having a hard time picking up what Mercury was throwing down. "But...how can I kill that which is already dead?"

The vibrant singer smirked. "That, as they say, is the rub." The monk raised an unconvinced eyebrow. "Do they really say that? Who is they?"

"My boy, your axe² holds the power. When the time is right, you will be able to unleash it and destroy hippy evil once and for all."