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Abin Quank was curled up in a fetal position, tenderly trying to feel the damage done to his nose. Harbinger would get the rough side of his tongue when she got back! (when you interpret that statement, be sure to pick the less risque one, because that is what I mean ) Of course, hopefully she would still be mind-controlled, because that would be a HELL of an improvement!
0h well, at least now he had an excuse for not continuing his onevision or his segment of the ag-team thread. AND the cute nurse with the fabulous twins was waiting on him hand and foot. If only he could lose the pain too, he would be the happiest guy in the universe.
Little did he know that a certain vegetable-like alien would soon be turning him into the most miserable guy in the universe.
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Back in the jungle - “Impulse 1, what a ridiculous laugh you’ve got,” said Numf. “However, that doesn’t change the fact that you’re a spy. And not a very bloody good one either, by the way. If Cobie’s going to use my telepathic implant as a tracking device, you can tell him that he doesn’t need to send in the Cavalry every time we feel a bit cold, or wet. I know he’s just getting used to being my dad, but that’s taking his parental duties just a bit far. “Now, you’ve got a choice, you can bugger off back to Cobie and tell him you’ve been found out, or you can join us, and not send back any signals. It’s your choice.” “How ‘bout third choice. We kick fuck out of him for being spy. And then he bugger off,” offered Kaant, who was looking at Impulse 1 as if he was the shit on the bottom of her shoe.
“I must apologise,” said I1, “but if you’re going to try physical damage towards me, then you’d better try a damn sight better than that.” “Bugger,” quoth Numf once more, rubbing his cranium where I1 had pounded him rather unexpectedly. “ Bugger, bugger, bugger. That was HER idea,” said Numf, pointing at his young oriental sidekick. “What are you doing hitting me?” “Well, I thought..” stammered I1, “that you were, um, going to attack me again…” “Fuck no, I remembered this time how bloody quick you are. I knew we’d take a kicking if we tried to jump you.”
Kaant was picking herself up when she spotted a strange shimmering in the air behind I1. “Look out!” she shouted, pointingbehind Impulse 1. “You don’t think I’m going to fall for…aaaaaaaarghhhhhh!!!!!!!!!” screamed I1 as he was sucked into an interdimensional vortex, which disappeared in the blink of an eye.
“Whorra fu’ wos tha’?” asked Kaant, turning to Numf. “Eddies in the space-time continuum..” said Numf. “You had this joke before - I s’pposed say Eddy who? I not stoopid. Whorra fu’ are eddies in space-time continuum?” asked Kaant, spoiling Numfs chance of double-dipping his joke-bag once more. “Well, it’s…” started Numf, searching for the right word. “Fluctuations……” “Fluc you too you round-eye bastard!” screamed Kaant, giving Numf the finger before turning tail and disappearing into the jungle.
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“Thanks Rody for taking I1 out of the equation, are you sure you’ve delivered him safely back to LMBP HQ?” asked Numf, concerned suddenly for I1’s wellbeing. “Squeak, squeak,” replied the Super Rat, sitting on Numfs hand. “Yeah, I know he’s not really a bad spy, he was only trying to help, but he’s pretty new to this game, and I don’t want him getting hurt. And I don’t suppose I like the thought of Cobie sending baby-sitters for me.” “Squeak.” “ Well, I was trying to keep her close, you know. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Get her thinking that I thought she was on my side, and therefore I was on herside. That sort of thing. Saw it on a TV programme once, about this bloke wandering around all over the place, playing tunes on his flute, walking through deserts and shit like that.” “Squeak.” “I don’t look anything like that bloke in Baywatch! You offend me, Rody!” “Squeak!” squeaked Rody, exasperatedly. “Oh, sorry, David Carradine. Oops, translator error. Oh, you mean with the pyjamas, nae shoes and a flute. And on a voyage of self-discovery. Oh, okay. I’ll let you off. But I don’t have a grenade embedded in my hand.” “Squeak. Squeaky squeak.” “Oops, wrong film.”
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“StuRat, just where in the nine hells are we?” Nightcrawler hissed at his companion, as just for a split second he cursed his own impetuous decision to re-include himself in the rollicking space/time/planet/universe jumping adventures of the LMBP.
“How the hell am I supposed to know, Nighty, this is your home dimension – I’ve never been here before.”
That they were in one of the nine hells of his home dimension didn’t faze him. What they might find there did. While Baalshazzar, better known to the LMBPers as Nightcrawler has been away from his home dimension for many years, (but as they say “you can take the demon out of the hells but…”) he knows that as peaceful as the scene seems to be appearances can be deceiving. A quick look and listen reveal to him only the normal sights and sounds of home. Twisting spirals of scarlet and silver smoke rising from pools of quicksilver… the smell of brimstone and the stench of burning flesh… black bat-winged shapes moving in the distance… a single lingering screech of pure terror that ends in a choked gurgle… a black shadow slowly creeping across a blood red moon. A howl, a hiss, the sound of a trap door opening and a neck snapping. “Everything seems normal enough,” Nighty thought warily, “which means trouble can’t be far away.”
“I smell fish.”
Stoopid Cat’s announcement was followed by action, and curses from his companions, as he leaped out of Bast’s arms and bolted into the rocky underbrush.
“Tell me again why we brought that damm cat along…”
“Because an ancient prophesy states that he and I are essential to the defeat of the Master-Baiter.” Pagan Lass called back over her shoulder as she leaped after her cat, “But it doesn’t say why or how.”
The chase lasted for a few anxious minutes before the group caught up to Stoopid Cat. They had to duck and dodge through the weird vegetation and sharp rocky protrusions that seemed to shift into their paths at every opportunity. But eventually they caught up to the cat, only to be greeted by another mysterious stranger.
“Hello Baalshazzar,” the female figure in the crimson hood hissed, “I see you’ve brought some of your little friends home with you this time.”
“Shit!” Nighty came to a screeching halt as he saw the figure, causing Cloned Green Pig to run into his back, which hurled him forward into Pagan Lass, who fell on top of StuRat. While, off to the side of that pile, Stoopid Cat sat licking his paws. On the ground in front of him lay the skeleton of a fish.
“Asmodea, what are you doing here?”
-------------------- Truth and Justice shall Prevail! (Just as soon as the Check Clears!)
From: The Back Office in Abin's Fixit Shop. | Registered: Sep 2003
| IP: Logged |
Pagan Lass ascended the stage in a swirl of mystic energy which caused her amazing mane of scarlet tresses to billow about her body. Dressed in her usual attire, three small sprigs of well placed mistletoe, her voluptuous body hidden by the swirling movements of her hair, she kept her eyes averted as she listened to the gasps from the crowd. The loudest of the appreciative noises came from exactly where she expected, Numf and Abin. Smiling in their direction she raised her arms and released her spell. The two of them floated out of their chairs and joined her on the stage. A downward movement of her arms completes the spell and there are three women on the stage, Pagan Lass, Roseanne, and Rosie.
“And for yur vewin pleasures, a special performance by… Urrk…” the announcer’s voice is cut off mid sentence as he sees who is dancing naked on the stage… and to make things worse his featured performer is seated in the LMBP section along with the other dancers. He suddenly realizes that he’s stuck with what is happening and it ain’t pretty.
“So Cobie, you little cutie, are you going to introduce me to your new friends?”
Cobalt’s head snapped around so fast at the sound of PL’s voice that for the second time that evening he almost gave himself whiplash, “Umm… Hi Pagan Lass, aren’t you supposed to be dancing?
“Numf and Abin decided to take over for me.”
“Holy Shit, Cobie, Look up on stage! BWAHAHAHA!!”
IB’s laughter does the trick. Cobie’s head swivels again, this time bringing a sharp pain that causes him to fall out of his chair. He barely hits the floor however before his fall is caught by a diving Trailer Trash Barbie. Somehow he manages to land face first in a spectacular valley and his fall is cushioned by a pair of soft, natural shock absorbers.
“You alright shugah?” *Gum Snap* “You seem a mite jumpy.”
“What the hell are you two doing here?” Dusty Baker’s voice cuts through the confusion like a hot knife through limburger cheese (He really needs a new mouthwash).
“Umm. Skip, is that who I think it is?” TTB’s voice comes from behind Cobalts now limp body.
“You know these two Dusty?”
“Yeah, I know ‘em. They’re from back home. I pick them up for school each morning.”
“School?” Invisible Brainiac’s voice cracks on the hated word.
“Yeah, Prof. Baldy’s School for Gifted Youngsters, they’re both Meta’s. Barbie over there has some form of weird Animal Magnetisim and Skipper here has an IQ…”
Dusty’s words are cut off as a hand the sise of a table slams him across the room.
“Whoever you little twerps are, you will be the first to fall before the might of JUGZERNAUGHT!”
-------------------- / / ( . )Y( . ) \ \
What can I DO for you?
From: Legion World Security Office | Registered: Dec 2003
| IP: Logged |
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Kaant waited a hundred yards (about 91 metres for anyone measuring metrically) further down the rain forest path. She now realised that there was something wrong, and that Numf wasn’t going to come running after her and fall into the spike filled, palm leaf covered trap that had been lying in wait for a number of weeks now. Although there was something wrong with the situation, Kaant was fairly sure that Numf wouldn’t have twigged the exact problem.
Kaant was also fairly sure that no-one would remember the Sour Grapes Gang, or at least if they did, then they would assume that they were now defunct. Most people didn’t even remember the Banana Bunch, and certainly wouldn’t realise that their nemeses were still active. Their mission, to wipe from the earth all remnants of the Terrible Four and their descendants, was unknown to the residents of the world who had assumed that it was simply a silly TV series. Nothing could be further from the truth. After being cut from the airways, and therefore the minds of the world, three out of four of the Bunch had been butchered in their sleep at the Old Actors Retiral Home in Wisconsin. It hadn’t even made the local press, on the day that George W Bush had invaded Iraq. The world would never believe the real reason for the invasion was as a diversionary tactic, even if they were told. Who would ever know of the terror that Dubya had suffered in the formative years of his forties, realising as he did that he would never be as intelligent as ANY of the Bunch, and that he would never have any friends either, unless he stopped his bed-wetting ways. Oh, and being a twat. Thankfully his dad leant him some of his. His Funda-fucking-mental-ist Christian upbringings had gelled well with the SGGs tenet that false idols should not be worshipped. A Sour Grape at heart, he had been secretly contacted by a Mr Benn, no sorry, Blair, and world domination was planned……..
They did realise that one day they would have to face off against the Mousketeers – but that day of reckoning had yet to arrive.
The fourth and last of the bunch, Snork, had been captured in a small , wooden outhouse in a Tennessee swamp, and summarily executed, after hours of torture. The torture session had uncovered the fact, through squeaks and snorts, that, although there were no children left behind, there had been that unusual occasion of the DNA sample taken by a large man made out of rock……….
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Numf was feeling horny. He often did, especially when the hangover wore off. But this time it probably had something to do with his other self (?) partaking of pleasures of the flesh at Shameless Hussies. Lucky bastard. He thought. This wasn’t the first time that one of his other cloned selves had turned up and pretended to be him. It used to really piss him off when they stole his girlfriends though. He’d had to kill quite a few of them up til now, and he supposed he’d have to kill this one too.
Unless one of the other posters took the hint and killed him off in an un-necessarily gratuitous, and preferably humourous, way.
“Hey, Kaant, how do you fancy a 69?” Numf shouted down the path that Kaant had disappearred down.
“Where you get ingredients fo’ sweet sour chicken from?” came the distant reply.
Numf laughed. It was, after all a better reply than the “Fuck off” he’d expected.
Rody the Super Rat was on a Mission – Wayne “Shameless” Hussey had appeared as if from no-where, and considering The Missions musical output over the last 15 years, that’s probably precisely where he did come from. The first that Numf and Rody had been aware was when they heard a snatch of song through the rain forest, coming closer.
“You rescue me, You are my faith, My hope, My liberty. And when there’s darkness all around, You shine bright for me, You are the guiding light To me, You are a tower of strength toooooo meeeeeeeeee”
“Hey,” Numf had said to Rody, as Mr. Hussey had come tramping up the rain forest path, walking boot clad with acoustic guitar attached upside down on his back. “That sounds like Wayne Hussey.” “Squeakity, squeakity squeak,” squeaked Rody. “I suppose you’re right, he does look more like Jon Anderson with that haircut.” “Fuck off, I heard that,” said Wayne, as he strode within earshot.
“Wayne Hussey, if I’m not mistaken. It’s an absolute pleasure to meet you,” said Numf, as he extended his hand to be shaken by the gothic one. “Don’t tell me – you’re Numf-El, though you wouldn’t know it from the attire. I recognise you from glasses and the almost Freddie Mercury-ish moustach. Plus the fact that you have the world famous Rody the Super Rat on your shoulder.” “So, tell me, Mr. Hussey…” “Please, call me Wayne.” “Okay, Mr. Wayne….nah, that doesn’t work, I’ll think of you as a cowboy.” “Just Wayne, okay. I can’t have one of the world’s guardians referring to me as Mr. Unless it’s IB of course, but that’s just becausehe’s a kid and should be calling anyone over the age of 20 Mr.” “Anyway, Wayne, what on earth are you doing wandering in the Panamanian raiin forest?” “I’m making my way to a gig.” “A gig?” “Yeah, I’m playing a solo set in the El Condado Club in Buenos Aires on the 13th of March. And, when I’ve got the time to do it I prefer to walk between gigs. That way I experience the travelling, and the countries, instead of just waking up at different venues.” “Cool.” “Squeak!”
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Kaant lay in wait. She may not have any weapons to hand, but nor did she need them when she possessed such bloody minded visciousness, and there were the usual array of stones, pointy sticks and vinesjust lying around. But Kaant also knew that 200 yards (183m) further on down the path there were such items as landmines and handguns, bazookas, stinger missiles and several thousand of the faithful, in the secret central american HQ of the SGG. So, Kaant decided not to lay in wait after all, and buggered off to get re-inforcements.
She had been trusted with the mission (no, not The Mission this time) to eradicate the last vestiges of the Banana Bunch. Luckily for the SGG Kaant was computer literate and 0.04 seconds on the google search engine had turned up an interesting little story about cloning and large grey stone men, which had pointed her fairly and squarely in the direction of Numf. It was then simply a case of following the storyline to work out where he was likely to turn up in a vulnerable location. She also knew that Numf was incredibly gullible. Piece of piss. Who said the internet was only used for porn and Trekkies.
Luckily for the Numfster she didn’t have her laptop with her, or else she would have known that she now faced more than one adversary. Unfortunately, they were presently discussing the proverbial Good Old Days. “I don’t know if this’ll float your boat, Wayne, but I know one of the LMBPers that used to fancy you. In fact, I believe the quote was “Wayne Hussey, he’s God. I want to have his babies”, when you were on Top Of The Pops in about 1985.” “It wasn’t Harbi, her with the massive…” Wayne does “Big Round Jugs” hand motions, and looking very interested at the prospects. “Well, possibly her too…. But it wasn’t who I was thinking about. It was actually …” “Not Sonnie Boy, surely…..” “Well, actually it was, yes. It should have been a bit of a give away really, shouldn’t it. I think my dad might have sussed though. But then, he probably thought it was just a phase.” “Well, I wouldn’t normally be interested, but next time you see him, give him this from me…” And so saying , Wayne Hussey grabbed Numf gently by the face, one hand on each cheek , and gave him a great big, eyes closed, open mouthed kiss. In fact, I’d probably go as far as to call it a snog. Several minutes later, Numf pushed Wayne away, ever so gently and said “Nothing personal, Wayne, and don’t take this the wrong way, but would you mind if I just told him you sent your regards?”
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Rody the Super Rat wasn’t interested in the trappings of fame. In fact he really didn’t like any musicals made after Seven Brides for Seven Brothers. Let Numf and Shameless trade stories of the ‘80’s, Rody smelt a rat. A female rat. But she would have to wait until he had dealt with the more immediate danger – Kaant. Having changed into his Predator-inspired invisibility suit, Rody had followed her scent down the trail, narrowly missing out on falling down the most obvious trap he had ever seen, due to lack of attention. He had been concentrating on the scents, and hadn’t been looking where he was going. He invisibly wiped the sweat from his Super brow, and thanked his lucky stars that we’re not as smart as we’d like to think we are. He stood on the brink of the trap and breathed deeply.
Rumble, rumble, rumble……
Rody heard a noise coming from a few hundred yards further along the path. To him it wasn’t a couple of hunred yards. He was a rat – he didn’t know what a yard was. And he had no concept of what a hundred was. So, to him it was just “lots of a bit further”. However, hearing the rumbling coming ever closer he realised that he wouldn’t have to go any further to investigate the noises – they would come to him. He stood in the path, and waited. Nose twitching in the air, ears cocked.
Rody could smell Kaant, closely followed by a metal / diesel smell, followed by lots of intermittent sweaty human smells. And gun grease. That meant one thing – trouble. And if ever a rat knew how to handle trouble, it was Rody the Super Rat.
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Rody could always justify what happened next on the fact that rodents are naturally incontinent. At least to himself. The acrid smell of ratchet (bloody spell checker!) didn’t even register as Rody stared, bug eyed, at the large metal object rumbling towards him. Rody had only ever seen tanks in picture books previously, and had until now no understanding of just how fearsome they were as they bore down on you. Especially when you’re only rat sized. Rody couldn’t take his eyes off the contraption rolling towards him, and hadn’t even noticed the lots and lots of people swarming behind, with the glee of religious zeal in their eyes. In other words they were mad mental bastards who could and would do whatever they liked and claim it was done in Gods name. Or Allah. Or Whoever. Completely forgetting that the main point of every religion is to live in peace and love with your fellow man / being. Rody stood his ground, the hero that he is.
Kaant surveyed the terrain ahead from the safety of her tank cockpit (and no, I’m actually going to refrain from any jokes on that point, you know about Kaant having a cockpit the size of a tank, and variations on that theme. I feel they would be beneath even me. Oh, and while we’re out of the story for a second, I’d like to point out the fact that having an oriental baddy isn’t meant to be a slight on all orientals. It’s just that Kaant’s a cunt. And that isn’t meant to be a misogynistic use of the word cunt, it’s just that it’s such a great sweary word – and as such is unisexual. Men and women can be called it by equal measure e.g. Alan Shearer may possibly be described as such. But calling Kaant a cocksucker doesn’t really work, nor a motherfucker, nor a prick for that matter. And calling her a cow or a bitch doesn’t get near the scope of her nastiness. So, the term “cunt” is my sweary of choice. So don’t be offended by my being a racist mysoginist, because I’m not. And if the language offends you, then what the fuck are you doing reading an R rated piece of literature. Go back to reading the PC version of Noddy, you know, the one without the gollywog and the dwarves. Oops, sorry, I’ll get down off my soapbox and get on with the story. Right, where were we….) Ahead of her she saw a small multi-primary-coloured entity on the ground. This was cause for concern – it hadn’t been there five minutes ago. “Stoooppppp!!!!!” screamed Kaant, in an attempt to take futher stock of the situation. The tank driver slammed the brakes on and skidded.
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If the tank had kept up its speed, well, who knows, it may well have cleared the spike infested pit. As it was, it came to rest, precariously balanced over it, rocking back and forth, like something out of a 1960’s cult British movie which has recently been re-made. Spotting that the teeming multitude behind would soon get it back safely to safety, Rody leapt. The most heroic, accurate leap of Rodys life, From a standing leap he jumped 12 feet (3.66m) forward and 8 feet (2.44m) high, and landed on the gun nozzle of the tank. There he stood, stock still, on one foot, like the kid at the end of Karate Kid. Staring at Kaant. “Gerri fu’ off my fu’’in’ tank!!!” Kaant screamed at Rody, waving her arms frantically.
If this were a TV series there would be one of those entirely unnecessary breaks. You know, the ones where it’s obvious that there should be an advert break, but instead you just get a second of blank screen, and then back to the exact same place in the scene. So – blank screen……. And back to the story…….
Rody had long been a fan of Lara Croft. He wasn’t interested in the infeasibly large chest, tiny waist and tight buns, like all of her other fans. He was a rat, for goodness sake, what use were they to him? One of his favourite moves of hers was her back flip. Rody had practised this move on his own, hour after hour in his bedroom in front of the mirror, for just such an occasion as this. He had also practised his Angus Young air guitar in case his hero should ever call on him needing a replacement, and of course he had practised masturbating himself to death. He hadn’t quite worked out what use this last one would be, but it was definitely an end of the world scenario.
Rody gave Kaant a closer look at his front paw middle claw. He pushed down with both feet, disrupting the already precarious balance of the tank, and simultaneously sprang upwards and backwards, front legs outstretched at his sides. He performed a perfect somersault, sailing through the air, cape fluttering majestically. He landed perfectly on both back paws, turned, and gave a bow to his adoring fans. Who of course were only there in his head. This did, however give him the chance to watch the tank, teetering slowly over the edge, dropping towards the sharpened stakes below. Kaant had dragged herself from the cockpit and was trying unsuccessfully to run along the gun barrel as the tank picked up momentum on its way to the bottom of the pitch.
Rody was suddenly distracted from his pleasure at having performed the perfect Croftesque back flip by a high pitched “pinging” to his left and right. The SGG zealots had reached the edge of the spike infested pit and were shooting at him. It was, however, like just about every Hollywood movie he had ever seen. The baddies could never shoot straight, even with 60-round-a-second machine guns. If Rody had had a peashooter he could have seen if the converse was also true.
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Rody decided that, although he himself wasn’t in any danger, that the odd stray bullet might slip past and injure one of the two humans back up the trail. And they were under his protectorate. That and the fact that the horde of zealots was starting to realise that they could actually just go around the pit. Pity. It had been fun watching them try to climb over the tank and fall, either on top of Kaant, who was non too happy, or else skewer themselves on the pointed sticks. Zealot kebabs, eh? Great stuff. So he turned and started up the hill.
“Why? Am I not a good kisser or something?” asked Wayne Hussey. “Not at all, just check the bulge in my pyjama bottoms,” replied Numf. “You’re definitely one of the best kissers I’ve ever come across. That’s C-O-M-E.” “Then why don’t you want to pass that kiss on to him?” asked Wayne, all dejected, like. “Go on, he’s my favourite…well, apart from maybe Harbi. But Sonnie’s just soooo artistic…..” “’Cos he’s me fuckin’ brother, that’s why not. I’ve got nothing against mano-a-mano snogging – not for me personally, though. And I’ve got nothing against giving my brother a kiss. That’s not a problem either. But snogging my brother’s just riiiight out. And anyway, I think he’d be jealous of me having received a kiss like that from his hero.” “Oh, okay, I can see where you’re coming from. I mean, I can see what you mean.” “So, how’s about I give you his address, then , and you can pop round to see him next time you’re in London? Yeah? ‘Cos him and Harbi live together ..” Little Waynes head was bobbing up and down frantically at that thought. “Good, now, since you’ve got your guitar, how about a little singsong.” “Hey, what a great idea, what do you want to sing? Tower Of Strength?” asked Wayne. “Nothing personal, but I was never a great fan…. but I’ve got an idea. Right, it’s E then A then E again for the first line, then E, B7 and back to E again, and we do that whole thing twice, got it?” asked Numf. “E-A-E, E-B7 and back to E twice. Got it,” replied Wayne, tuning up his acoustic. “Okay, go, and join in with the vocals as soon as you can pick them up…
“Tra-la-la la-la-la-la Tra-la-la-la la-la-la-la
Tra-la-la la-la-la-la Tra-la-la-la la-la-la-la
“F” prompted Numf, which was quickly picked up by Wayne. “One banana, two banana, three banana, four…”
They were interrupted by a squeaking, and turned to see Rody high-tailing it towards them.
“Squeak, squeak, squeak, squeak, FUUUUCCCKKKK!”
“What was that Rody, run like what?” asked Numf, whose translator had translated the last word back into rat. Wayne tapped Numf on the shoulder and pointed back down the trail. “Ummmm…look what’s coming our way.” Numf turned his head and saw large quantities of mad mental bastards with guns, bazookas and fucking big knives hurtling their way with menace in their eyes. “Okay, I think I get the idea,” said Numf, in a very small voice.
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![[Big Grin]](biggrin.gif)
) Of course, hopefully she would still be mind-controlled, because that would be a HELL of an improvement! 
![[Smile]](smile.gif)
