GGC Media is an experiment. It’s our get-away from the frantic and totally mental nature of Earth. It is where we put the fruits of our productive free time and collective interests.
Beast of Terror in Vice City
Dr. Vo 
Back to you, Ted
U to the K to the R-AI-NE!
Despite [this] Gillen got on quite well with the Arunta…
The Unbelievable Adventures of Fjoinky Number Two
Started on: 15 June 2004
Ended on: 30 June 2004
Contributors: Pstonie, Justas, Phatt, Gareth, Olzen
Link to original thread: Click here
Length: 7451 words
Fjoinky couldn’t believe it when Sally burst in the door. It had been several years since he broke up with her over that scratchy fax line. But now she was standing here, in real life.
It was raining outside and her I dig Ike Turner T-Shirt was drenched through, clinging to her every curve. 24-38-46. He had always had a thing for conical women. He could see that she was mad, very mad. Her eyes darted wildly and the foam that was coming from her mouth spattered accross her lip every time that her head flinched.
“Boobs” he said. Boobs indeed.
Sally responded rapidly: “Get yar’n darn mind outta tha gutter, Rodney, we ain’t…”
“It’s Fjoinky. Fjoinky number Two” said he in a corrective manner.
“Whatever, Wally. As I was saying, we ain’t got much time left, the…”
“It’s not Wally. It’s Fjoinky. Fjoinky number Two.” said he, getting slightly angrier.
To which, Sally responded: “Look, there’s no time for this right now, we have to…” and her words were cut off as she exploded.
“Blimey,” said Fjoinky number Two…
He looked at her remains in an enquiring manner.
“Boobs?” he asked.
A short pause was had by all.
“Ah” he said as he recognised something from the charred leftovers. In the corner by the basin and one stuck to the east wall. Lovely, this meant that he would have something to do when he got back. For the rain had ended as abruptly as it had begun. As Rodney made his way to the Internet cafe, he was dismayed about the fact that the only bang he’d ever had with this girl was when she exploded.
“It’s Wally!” he said as he shuffled along.
Don’t you mean Fjoinky?
“Damn you, Gary Coleman. Damn you to hell.”
So he walked into the cafe, where Dougie was eager to greet him but no more than a mere 7.4 seconds prior to the passing of 15.2 seconds since the moment 2.3 second before his entering to the cafe.
“Ooh, a wise guy.” snarled Fjoinky as he sat down behind one of the computers and ordered a cup of jelly.
“Havin’ a bad day, eh?” asked Dougie. “What is it this time? The fungus is back?”
Fjoinky contradicted Dougie’s assumption in a laconic way by saying “No.”
Observing the look on Dougie’s face, Fjoinky soon realised that this reponse was not sufficient in fulfilling his craving for knowledge. Thus, he continued:
“Sally came back today. And then she exploded.”
Dougie was amazed. “Blimey.”, he said.
Fjoinky looked at Dougie in amazement, he wasn’t amazed.
“You’re a bastard” said Fjoinky as someone threw a cup of jelly at him from the counter.
Dougie looked back at the screen. It had now been filled with popups.
“Cialapren,” Dougie said, “it helped me, and I believe that it can help you.”
Fjoinky put his thumb up his nose and pondered what Dougie had said. Later he removed his thumb and it had gotten all white and wrinkly.
“This place is cool!” he said as he started on the dented pack of jelly that he’d ordered.
Fjoinky gazed at the blank space in front of him for a while. He let out another grunt as he realised that he’d sat down at a table with no computer. The chalky taste of the jelly was no longer as sweet.
“Dougie, you son of a bitch!” Fjoinky cried, “Where’s the computer?”
Fjoinky sighed. “The computer I use every damn day!”
Dougie thought for a moment. You could tell he was thinking because he went cross-eyed and made several straining noises.
“Oh yeah,” Dougie said, “Some other guy used it after you left yesterday and broke it. Someone called… Robert?… no… Robin, yeah Robin.”
Fjoinky stood up and walked over to Dougie. “You let someone else use MY computer?!”
“Well…” Dougie began, but trailed off as Fjoinky kicked him in the nutsch.
“Miisshter Bonck… mishter Bonck…” said the faint sound in the distance.
“Miister Boonck, can you hear mee…”
Suddenly, he was shaken and as a result, regained his consciousness.
“Ah, mister Bonk. You’re awake.” came a voice from somewhere near Dougie’s head. He strained his eyes and saw a dizzy image of what appeared to be a doctor’s face.
“Wh… what happened?”, he asked, still not having quite realised what had happened.
“You had received heavy injuries on your reproductive organs when we picked you up, Mr. Bonk.”
“Hmm… the last thing I remember is a cup of jelly oozing down my face… while being in tremendous pain…” said he, trying to recall the events that had taken place.
“We were told by witnesses that a single crazed madman did this all to you. His name was… Wally or something. It took eleven policemen to calm him down and prevent him from killing you.” said the doctor.
“Ugh… and who are you?”, he asked.
“I’m doctor Freeman,” he replied, “but you can call me… Robin.”, followed by a cleverly concealed short sinister laughter.
“Hey! I recognise you!” Dougie said, “Aren’t you that guy who started loadsa game projects but didn’t finish one?”
“Well…” Robin tugged at his collar, then looked at his watch. “Say, is that the time? I really must be going now! The nurse will fill you in on your rehabilitation.” And with that, he leapt out of the window.
Dougie stood up and looked out of the window.
“Maybe someone should have told him we’re about 30 floors up…”
Dougie, startled, turned round.
“Yes, someone should’ve.”
What Dougie saw can only be described as a charcter from a porno flick. A very large lady was standing in front of him, wearing a black PVC nurse “uniform”, and to top it off, was brandishing a very large and painful looking whip.
“I’m nurse Dom Inatrix. I’m to discuss your therapy with you, Mr Bonk…”
Dougie thought for a while. Then, he said: “Say, Dom is a really strange name for a woman, isn’t it?”
“Perhaps, what about it?” said Dom.
Dougie stared at her. “Well, in retrospect, I guess that it’s not that weird. In comparison with your beard, that is.”
“Damnit,” thought Fjoinky, “I knew I went too far with this costume.”
Fjoinky removed the beard and re-established the previous eye contact with Dougie, as if to say that he was in fact a woman.
“Much more believable,” chuckled Dougie, “except for the hairy legs.”
“You’re an ass,” said Fjoinky the Impaler, “I come here trying to bust you out and all you can do is bitch about my best nurse outfit.”
“Well,” said Dougie the White, “you could have just busted me out without the outfit, right? It’s all in the details.”
Fjoinky was mad at Dougie, but he knew that the outfit wasn’t neccesary. It’s just that it made him feel so damn pretty. He regained his determination, he had a mission and he was going to complete it. He grabbed Dougie and leaped out of the window.
Someone should have told him that it was thirty floors down.
Fjoinky and Dougie screamed as they fell thirty floors. However, instead of hitting the hard concrete, they landed on a soft, giant trifle.
Fjoinky stood up first. “Why the hell is there a giant trifle here?”
Dougie stood up and looked out to the side of the bowl and saw a doctor-shaped hole in the concrete, roughly 3cm away from the edge of the bowl.
“Damn, that IS unlucky.”
Fjoinky slapped Dougie upside the head. “C’mon, lets get out of here, to the Fjoinkmobile!”
“You mean your Robin Reliant?”
Fjoinky hung his head. “Yes.”
Fjoinky and Dougie jumped out the bowl, brushed the trifle off their clothes and jumped in Fjoinky’s Robin Reliant. After several dodgy maneoveures, they left the car park and hit the motorway.
“Say, Fjoinky…” said Dougie, “Doesn’t that sleek black car following us full of men in white coats with sunglasses on look suspicious?”
Fjoinky looked in his rear-view mirror. “Egad! It’s a doctor assassin squad! We’ve gotta lose them!”
Fjoinky stuck the accelerator pedal to the floor and began swerving through the traffic, but the sleek black car followed perfectly, slowly gaining on Fjoinky and Dougie.
“Say, Fjoinky…” said Dougie, “Surely this Robin Reliant can’t actually perform these kinda stunts?”
A look of fear crossed Fjoinky’s face as the car began to roll, went through the barrier and began careening down a hill…
…and big texts on the screen said “Busted!” and “Mission Failed!”
“My turn!” exclaimed Dougie.
“Hey, I just busted you out of the hospital, so if anyone’s gonna be playing GTA:VC here, it’s me.”, said Fjoinky as he denied Dougie access to the computer that was lying near the hospital entrance where they had fallen for some reason.
And then, Dougie pondered: “Allright, man. But there’s still one thing that bothers me… I’m still pretty badly injured, as I can barely walk… and hospitals aren’t exactly prisons… so why did you come to bust me out in the first place?”
Fjoinky sighed and replied: “I guess I just needed to spark my life up a bit with some action. You know, my life’s been really dull recently. Well, apart from the whole exploding Sally deal. But other than that, I’ve fallen into a rut. Every morning, I wake up, go to the Internet cafe, order a cup of jelly and spend the entire day behind a computer. It’s really… Uh, Dougie? Dougie, are you there?”
He looked over his shoulder and noticed that Dougie had passed out and was still bleeding from various places all over his body.
“Hmm… I should probably get him back to the hospital,” thought Fjoinky. But he decided, “Screw the hospital! My witch doctor can fix him up good!”
Fjoinky then picked up Dougie, shoved him in the back of his car and drove him downtown to Ivana Boobjob’s Witch Doctor Emporium. He picked Dougie up out of the back of his car and rushed him in, stopping only to exclaim “Christ, he’s one heavy son of a bitch!”
Fjoinky plonked Dougie in a chair and rushed up to the desk.
“I need to see Ivana, quick! This man is in a very bad way!”
The receptionist glanced away from her copy of Cialapren Monthly and muttered “Take a number like veryone else, ya ugly bastard.”
“Screw you, old hag!” Fjoinky cried, picked Dougie up and burst into Ivana’s consultation room.
“Fjoinky! What a surprise!”
Fjoinky surveyed the scene. Ivana was sitting behind her desk, wearing only her witch doctor mask.
“Ivana, this man needs help!”
“Lets see what I can do…”
“First off, Ivana… Why are you naked, except for a witch doctor mask.”
“It’s a fashion thing.”
“Can’t be very hygenic though? What if you get pubes stuck in the Vaseline?”
“Look, you had the chance to go to the hospital, you chose me. Put up and shut up.”
Fjoinky lit up a fag and sat in the corner.
“What are you doing?”
“That’s filthy. In an operation theatre?”
“Only as filthy as letting your pubes dangle over the patient.”
Ivana looked at the patient. She let out a yelp of horror to indicate her subsequent discomfort.
“Was he always this ugly?” she asked as she oiled herself up for operation.
Fjoinky walked to the operating table and looked down. He made a conscious attempt to sound dramatic as he stared out of the window and said: “Shit.”
“What?” she said as she removed the mask and let her beautiful blonde hair free so that it might cascade down her slippery, shiny shoulders like an oily waterfall of blonde pleasure.
Fjoinky shook his head so that he might regain his concentration.
“I brought the wrong guy. I carried that ugly Robin doctor bastard here.”
They both leaned over and stared at the remarkably ugly patient.
Robin’s lips moved, he tried to speak: “Sss… space ….k….k.. kwest….sev….sev”
“Gibberish,” said Ivana as she cocked the shotgun, “I’m gonna put this little turd out of its misery.”
“Good,” said Fjoinky as he extinguished the homosexual that he had been smoking, who protested by making a high-pitched noise, “I’ll swing by later so that you could inspect my instrument.”
Fjoinky turned around to leave and smiled, it was his favourite line.
“Right,” said Ivana, “I’ll get the microscope ready.”
Ouchies. He had been served.
Fjoinky walked up to his car, opened the door and entered. As he started the engine and began driving towards home, he kept having a strange feeling as if he had forgotten something. “Ah, probably wasn’t important anyway…” he thought and continued.
Having driven roughly 438.2 meters, he turned on the radio and listened to some random Indian pop music. He sang along, horribly off-key.
About 17 minutes and 40 seconds later, he arrived at home. He circumstantially decimated three of his neighbour’s garden gnomes in a failed attempt to properly park the car and exited. He didn’t bother locking the car as one of the doors was missing anyway.
He proceeded through the front door and threw his jacket on the floor, where it landed on top of some relativley fresh cat puke, which gave it a peculiar aroma for the following few days. It was an odd coincidence, considering that he did not possess a feline. Being too tired to contemplate brushing his teeth, he went straight to bed.
Then, a few minutes before 4:21 AM, just shortly after having dreamt about various blondes under various waterfalls, he remembered about Dougie.
“Blimey,” he said.
Fjoinky sat up. “I really ought to go look for hi…”
His head hit the pillow.
Approximately 5 hours later he woke up with a start, pulled on some clothes and jumped out of the window with the intent of dropping through the open sun-roof of his car. It was only as he bounced of the roof of his car he remembered he had air con rather than a sun-roof. “Ow shit!”
Fjoinky picked himself up off the driveway and threw himself towards the car’s missing door. Too late he realised he was on the wrong side.
“OW! For the love of….”
Fjoinky forgot what came next and just decided to get in the car and drive.
Approximately 10 minutes later Fjoinky pulled up in the hospital car park. Sure enough the trifle was still there, as was the doctor-shaped dent in the ground, but no sign of Dougie. He then proceeded to the hospital reception, manned by a receptionist strangely similar to the receptionist at Ivana’s place.
The receptionist glanced up. “Yes?”
“I’m looking for Dougie Bonk.”
The receptionist thought, failed to think and looked on the computer instead.
“30th floor, King Graham Memorial Ward, Room 2b.”
“Thanks, old hag!” Fjoinky shouted as he ran to the elevator, knocking over two small children and a guy on crutches to get there before the door shut.
Fjoinky slapped the ’30’ button and the lift slowly began its ascent. However as it reached floor 15, there was rumble, followed by a shake and the lights going out…
Fjoinky sat down in the darkness and urinated like a scared puppy. Just as he started to enjoy the warmth, he heard a slight rumbling from above. A light shone through from the roof of the lift. The light descended down into the lift along with a dark human-shaped figure. The figure landed in the elevator with a thump and stood up. It spoke.
“Hello,” it said, “you have lived a horrible life and must now die so that your place in hell will be filled.”
“Shit,” thought Fjoinky, “they know.”
Fjoinky stood up slowly from the impressive puddle that he had created.
“So I suppose that you’re the devil?” he asked.
The figure let out a deep, menacing laugh and spoke:
“No, I’m just the maintenance guy. Itor, Jan Itor.”
Jan reached into his pocket and pressed a button on a remote, the lights came on and the lift rumbled to movement again.
“I was just kidding about the hell thing,” said Jan, “We only do that to the medical residents.”
The door opened not a moment too soon, Fjoinky stepped out of the puddle and exited the lift. He turned around to make sure that the maintenance guy would go back down with the lift.
“Watch your back,” said Jan who was staring back at him in an evil manner, “I’ll be watching.”
The doors closed on the lift. Fjoinky turned around to leave but slipped on the still-wet soles of his shoes.
“Boobs” He said.
He walked a bit along the hallway until he suddenly stopped. And thought.
“Wait a tic… the receptionist said that Dougie is up here… which means he must be safe. And he basically deserved getting to the hospital in the first place…. so why the feck am I looking for him? Hah! I could instead do whatever I want!”
He felt like a new man. A free man. He took a deep breath and exhaled it rapidly. By doing that, he also managed to accidentally blow over a little child on crutches who was standing in front of him. Failing to notice that, he walked forward, stepping on the fallen child and further damaging his bleeding carcass in the process.
He then proceeded along the hallway until he saw a hot nurse. He decided to hit on her. She hit him back. He became moderately wounded and experienced mild pain. Despite the difficulties, he continued his journey. He was still happy. And full of optimism.
Roughly four hours and thirty-eight minutes later he sensed a feeling of fatigue. Without further ado, he sat down on a nearby chair. What he did not expect, however, was that a thought would strike him.
“Ouch!” Fjoinky cried after being struck, “That bloody hurt!”
However, the pain subsided as the thought took over his brain and told him “Hey spitwad, you never actually found out if Dougie was OK!”
“Cripes, that’s right!” Fjoinky surveyed the scene to see which floor he was on. The sign which hung above him, said ‘1st Floor, Menswear’.
“Menswear?” Fjoinky said out loud. Then, all of a sudden, a parade of clowns passed him, “Hang on, perhaps…”
Fjoinky woke up in a hospital bed. “Mr. Gumption, glad to see you’re awake, after the lift careened 26 floors down, we thought you may not regain conciousnes. However, we have some bad news for you…”
Fjoinky proceeded to wet his body cast.
The doctor looked at Fjoinky with concern.
“Well,” the doctor said, “aside from your bladder control problem that I’ve just noticed, you have about ten seconds to live.”
The doctor looked at his watch.
Fjoinky thought about all the things that he hadn’t done. He realised that he had spent his entire life in the search for happiness and inner fulfilment. He never reached his goal. If he had only searched for boredom and repetitive sexual deviency he would be able to die a happy guy.
The doctor took another slurp from his beer and looked at his watch again. He started a countdown: “Three… Two… One.”
The doctor looked at Fjoinky in anticipation, Fjoinky stared back at him and wondered if he was going to offer him some of that beer.
“Listen,” said Fjoinky, “two things bother me about all this…”
“The first,” he continued, “is why you called me Mr. Gumption, that’s not my name.”
“Hmm?” enquired the doctor.
“The second,” said Fjoinky again, “is why you didn’t notice while that guy in the other bed was dying just now.”
The doctor looked around to the patient in the opposite bed, who had died while chuckling at Fjoinky’s fate.
“Damnit!” yelled the doctor as he realised what had happened. “I bloody missed it!”
The doctor sighed, then he turned around again.
“Alright,” he said, “I’m just going to turn you over to the care of Dr. Coleman and then I’m going up to the 30th floor to watch this one guy as we offer him to No-Poo-Poo, the great banana spirit.”
Fjoinky reached out for the beer and made his wanting noise, but the doctor was already on his way out. Fjoinky took a while to regain his thoughts. Then he pressed the nurse’s call button.
“Heheheh… Boobs.” he thought.
Unfortunately, the boobs Fjoinky longed for, belonged to Ilsa van Ruddistein. When she was younger, she had been dating Nazi general Albert von Schnott (known is SS ranks as ‘Der Schnott klatt’). Her sexual skills had been marvelled at by the SS in the beginning, but soon, she was blamed of “having lost it”. And they may have been right. What was once a pair of juicy melons turned into a pair of nylon stockings with a shilling in each foot. And matters down below the waist didn’t look too good either. That finally became too much for the Nazi general who committed suicide after failing to reach an erection, blaming it on Ruddistein in his suicide note. Imagine what Cialapren could have done in that situation. Anyway, Fraülein Ruddistein took the beeping intercom.
“Vat kann I temmt joo wid?”, she asked with her ugly stereotypical accent.
“Boobs”, said the voice in the other end of the line.
The juices of the old German hag were beginning to heat up. Fjoinky wanted her boobs, and he wanted them now. She was going to prove that she hadn’t lost it! Again, she grabbed the intercom.
“I vill be up zere in a moment!” she grinned.
Fjoinky was excited. After all this time, he was finally going to get his hands on some boobs. While he was lying there, waiting for Ilsa, he suddenly realised something.
The doctor’s voice in flashback form echoed: “…and then I’m going up to the 30th floor to watch this one guy as we offer him to No-Poo-Poo, the great banana spirit.”
“30th floor… By golly, it could be Dougie!” exclaimed Fjoinky as he jumped out of the bed and begun racing towards the elevator. About half a second later, he remembered that the elevator was broken, so he headed for the stairs. “Hey, that was some fast thinking!”, he thought. On the doorway, he bumped into Ilsa.
“Arr you ronning away früm me? Yu baschtard, just like mein ex-huschband!”, she yelled and proceeded to chase Fjoinky.
When Fjoinky finally reached the 30th floor, he saw Dougie among the crowd who were observing the ritual of some random guy, Mr. Fahordlinglades, being offered to No-Poo-Poo.
Fjoinky felt relieved. “Phew, Dougie’s safe. I guess that’s–”
“Zere you are, baschtard!” came a cry from behind. Seeing no other ways of escaping, he jumped out of a nearby window. Naturally, he forgot that he was on the 30th floor. As he descended rapidly through the air, his entire life flashed before his eyes. Again. He had always hated reruns and this time was no exception. Soon, he landed in something soft. And smelly. Using his skills of a detective, he managed to determine the substance he had just plummeted into. It was dung. Surrounded by a moving truck. Wishing to notify the driver of the recent happenstance, he turned his head towards the front of the vehicle, but the reply from the driver came before he could say anything.
“Swimming in shit again, Betsy?” asked Mr Itor. Jan Itor.
“Oh God, not you again!” Fjoinky groaned, “What the hell are you doing driving this truck anyway?”
“Oh, this?” said Jan, “This comes from the hospital farm. I have to take it and ‘dispose’ of it.”
Fjoinky raised an eyebrow, which promptly attempted to make an escape into his hair. Fjoinky slapped his forehead, however, and it swiftly moved back into place.
“‘Dispose?’ How do you get rid of it?”
“Ah, I take orders from bored teenagers and dump it on people’s doorsteps.”
Fjoinky found this intriguing. “Perhaps,” he thought, “I could put an order for this guy to dump some on Dougie’s doorstep when he gets out of hospital…”
Then suddenly something occurred to Fjoinky: the fact he was no longer in a body cast.
“Say,” Fjoinky remarked, “What happened to my body cast?”
“Ah,” said Jan, “it’s the cheap-ass plaster the hospital uses. If you try to move, it crumbles away.”
“And with that,” Jan said, “I have to remove you from my truck” and slammed on the brakes, sending Fjoinky flying through the air.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch…
An old man was sitting on the edge of his bed, sorting his white underwear from the coloured ones. He looked up at the clock on the wall and saw that it was time. He sighed and looked down at his cat which was peeking at him from inside a box.
“You look very much like a mouse doing that, Dinbal” said the old man. “And anyone who doesn’t agree is in feline rodent resemblance denial.”
The old man sighed again. He hated choices and had to choose what pair of underwear he was going to wear today. He decided on the white one with the stripes. He put it on, adjusted it in the mirror and went ouside. There was a strange man standing at his gate. A tall, well-groomed roguish gentleman thief with a British accent, by the looks of him. The old man walked to the gate.
“Good day, Mr. Trimble” said the man as he pushed his bowler hat back with his unbrella. “I’m Scuttlesby, tall well-groomed roguish gentleman thief with a British accent, at your service.”
“Jolly,” said the old man, Mr. Trible, “Poopedy hork die house boat govenment cheeseshite.”
“Excellent,” replied Scuttlesby, “may I ask why you’re wearing white and red-striped underwear on your head?
Suddenly they heard a screeching noise, as if a truck driving nearby and carrying a load of pudding had suddenly decelerated. They turned their eyes (along with their heads) towards the direction their ears and brains in cooperation had indicated as the source of the sound. Apparently, it was dung, not pudding. But you can’t really hear that anyway, so don’t go blaming the poor guys.
What was more worrying for them, however, was that a man from the back of the truck seemed to have begun travelling towards them through the air due to inertia, accompanied by little chunks of dung.
“Blimey,” said all the three of them synchronously, as if they had previously planned it. Though they hadn’t. A few milliseconds later, Fjoinky landed.
“Merry Christmas, Debbie!” shouted Jan as he drove off.
Mr. Trimble and Scuttlesby looked at him, with surprised looks on their faces.
Fjoinky picked himself up from the ground and dusted the dung off his clothes. This took a good 10 minutes, so the other two men waited quietly for him to finish.
The old man looked at Fjoinky and said: “Hey, I remember you! I gave you a plate of chicken to fix my chicken coop, and you didn’t fix it!”
Fjoinky retorted: “That chicken was terrible!”
“Fix my chicken coop!”
The old man launched himself at Fjoinky, knocking Scuttlesby over in the process.
Scuttlesby stood up, adjusted his monocle and stopped only to mumble “How convenient!” before looting the old man’s house and driving off in his Rolls Royce. As the car roared off Fjoinky and the old man broke off their fight, realising what Scuttlesby had just done.
“Quick!” the old man cried, “I need your help, any good with a shotgun?”
Fjoinky thought about this. “Yes, but what’s in it for me?”
“A plate of chicken?”
“Well, ok, but as long as it’s GOOD chicken. That last plate you gave me was…”
The old man jumped behind the wheel of his pick-up “Enough already, let’s go!”
Fjoinky jumped in the back and picked up the shotgun as the pick-up sped off. Soon enough they caught up with Scuttleby’s Rolls Royce. They overtook and Fjoinky took aim, but as he did, the gun was knocked out of Fjoinky’s hands. He watched as the gun flew through the air, was embedded in another car’s windscreen and subsequently made the driver of that Volvo careen from side to side and ultimately drive into a large tree, killing him and his entire family as well as the little dog, Spots, which was just thinking about Lassie tied up with a gimp in her mouth.
Fordsworth D. Trimble was not going to take this lying down, the seat in the pickup could not recline. He tugged the steering wheel of the old pickup hard left, in order to bump the other car into submission like on the movies. The pickup then hit a large hole in the side of the road, which made Fordsworth spill his tea as well as make him realise that the Rolls Royce was in fact on the right side and that they were now driving off the cliff at a very high speed.
As the car went off the cliff and into the ravine below, Fordsworth checked the glove compartment for biscuits and cursed his fate when he didn’t find any. He looked out the windscreen at the ground that was approaching at terminal velocity and put his seatbelt on.
“Oh, poopies.” he said.
“Wake up!” yelled a voice from the vat of strawberry custard.
Fjoinky pulled himself from the dream in which he’d made a nice home and went toward the vat of pink custard from where the voice was coming. He opened his eyes and saw who the voice belonged to.
“Hey,” he said, “it’s Hot Naked Oily Blonde Chick.”
However, as the chick started walking over…
“Yo, Debbie. Wake up.”
Jan hit Fjoinky in the head with a dung-encrusted shovel.
Fjoinky came to “Ow, ya sonofabitch! I was having the best dream ever…”
“Never mind that,” Jan said, “Dougie is dying and he wants to see you.”
Fjoinky’s face dropped faster than stock market prices in 1929. “Really?”
“Yeah, you best get over there now.”
Like a flash, Fjoinky sped to Dougie’s ward, where he found Dougie.
“Yo Fjoinky, whassup?”
“You’re not dying?”
Fjoinky cursed Jan in such a way it cannot be written here.
“However,” Dougie continued, “I need you to do me a favour most foul…”
“What is it?” Fjoinky responded.
“Wash my underwear!”
“I thought you said it was a ‘favour most foul’?”
“Have you seen my underwear?”
“You silly sonofa…” Fjoinky began, but all of a sudden…
…nothing happened. This caught Fjoinky by surprise and he was unable to finish his sentence.
“Poop.” Said Dougie.
Just then, a man walked in the door. Very peculiar-looking, he was. Besides the fact that he looked stereotypically British – complete with an umbrella, a monocle and striped underwear on his head – he also had a cup of tea with him.
Fjoinky looked at him in the same way that a dog looks at a fire hydrant.
“Oh, Cookies.” said Fordsworth. “I seem to have left my pocketwatch in my other waistcoat.”
“You keep turning up, don’t you?” asked Dougie.
“Oh hello, Dougie.” replied Fordsworth. “And how are you this fine d–”
“Oh, shut up!” interrupted Fjoinky, “I’m sick and tired of this hospital. Dougie is supposedly always here, but no one knows what’s wrong with him. Why am I always realising that I need to save him? This is a conspiracy, it’s ludicrous!”
Dougie switched the channel on the TV in his room, Fordsworth diverted his attention to the coloured creatures that were dancing around on it and took a sip from his cup of tea.”
“Damnit!” yelled Fjoinky, “This ends now!”
With that, Fjoinky grabbed Dougie and slung him over his shoulder.
“Me and Dougie are out of here to continue a fresh story arc. We’ll never see this hospital again and hopefully the next chapter won’t either! Goodbye!”
Fjoinky jumped out of the window and landed in his batplane that was hovering outside. It flew off in a strange and foreboding manner. Fordsworth looked at the window and took another sip from his tea.
And a few days later they ended up in the middle of the Mojave desert.
“Cool, I’ve always wanted to go to the Mojave desert.” said Dougie.
Fjoinky was not so excited. In fact, he wasn’t excited at all. In another fact, which was basically the same as the previous fact (well, it had to, otherwise it would’ve been contradictory), he was rather frustrated.
“Hmpf… a desert… we’re in a story, so we’d need to be in a place that has lots of people and plenty of room for action, not a bloody desert. As if the authors weren’t suffering from writer’s blocks already, now they’ve put us in a desert… nothing but sand for hundreds of miles. And cactuses. Or cactii. Dah, I hate freaky plurals.” he mumbled.
And then suddenly a flock of helicopters flew by and a clown fell off one of them. Yet, he somehow survived the lenghty fall with nelegejeble… err, negligible injuries.
“Hey, Mr. Clown” was Dougie’s greeting that he directed at the fallee.
“Mornin’…” he replied.
“So, what’s with the choppers?” inquired Fjoinky.
“Hmm… I think they kicked me out as they may have found it annoying when I kept tapping them on the head with this tiny hammer here,” explained the Clown, then hit both Dougie and Fjoinky on the head with the aforementioned hammer and continued “and also that I kept trying to kill the pilot with a chainsaw while singing German schlager hits.”
“I see…” said Fjoinky. This didn’t sound too good to him.
“Oh and they were also escaping from the tsunami.” added the clown as he sat down.
Fjoinky and Dougie decided to take the clown with them. After all, he was a big fellow and eventually they would need some food.
The sun rose on Fjoinky and Dougie’s 4th day in the desert. A carcass with a red nose and big feet lay next to a long-dead fire. Fjoinky woke with a start, and then proceeded to wake Dougie up.
“Dougie, did you remember to lock the internet café up?”
Dougie thought for a moment. “…shit.”
Fjoinky slapped Dougie upside the head.
“You fool! The place could’ve been looted by now!”
“But how are we going to get out of this arid hell?”
“Hey, you two!”
Fjoinky and Dougie looked round to see a muscular man in a tight yellow tee-shirt and tight red spandex bathing shorts running towards them.
“Don’t you know you can’t set a fire here? And where did that corpse come from?”
Fjoinky stood up. “Who the hell are you to tell us what not to do in the desert? And why are you dressed like that?”
“Desert? This is a beach, and I’m a lifeguard!”
“Beach? Then where is the sea?”
“To your right.”
Fjoinky and Dougie looked to the right and sure enough, there was the sea. They then looked left and there was the town. Fjoinky slapped Dougie upside the head.
“I told you we shouldn’t have gone in a straight line!”
The lifeguard cleared his throat. “If you’ve quite finished, I’d like to know about this corpse…”
Fjoinky and Dougie looked at each other and both their faces fell when the collective pennies dropped.
The lifeguard, who for the benefit of this story will be known as Spandor, looked down and stomped in the sand:
“Damnit!” he cried. “These damn spandex pockets can’t even hold my change!”
He settled himself down and picked up the pennies that had dropped. He looked at Fjoinky expectantly.
Fjoinky was frozen, he had to explain the corpse but all he could think of, was whether or not this was a topless beach. He had to know. He looked at Spandor and contorted his face in such a way as to make an onlooker think that the contortionist was going to say something to the contortionee. Spandor payed close attention.
“Boobs?” asked Fjoinky.
“No thanks,” said Spandor with determination, “I’m trying to quit.”
Just when Fjoinky was at the end of the conversational rope and had run out of things to say, Dougie picked up the slack. He made a noise unlike anything most mortal beings have ever heard. It was like a flock of seagulls suddenly realising that they are on fire. It was the Xenonian battlecry and it could make a grown man weep.
After Dougie was done, Spandor blinked and looked at Fjoinky again, more expectant of an answer. Fjoinky went over all of the conversational topics in his head, but he had already used it.
Just then, a golfcart jumped the curb behind them and came to a screeching halt as a hail of gunfire overtook it.
“I’m Tommy Vercetti,” yelled a voice from the cart, “get in!”
“Blimey” was the last thing Fjoinky managed to say before grabbing Dougie by his left foot (Quite an unusual technique for somebody who is in terrible hurry, I’d say.) and jumping into the cart while bullets rocketed past them at indubitably high velocities and one of them managed to hit the lifeguard in a nostril. However, the thickness of his nosehair provided enough friction to deplete its kinetic energy and eliminate its potential danger. He joined the others in the golf cart at the last moment and they drove off.
A few minutes later they arrived at Kaufman Cabs and hid themself and the golf cart in the garage. Fjoinky tumbled quickly out, without noticing that Dougie was on his way. This resulted in a significant degree of uncomfortability for both parties involved. The lifeguard was still making peculiar puffing noises as the thickness of his nosehair, despite having saved his life, was also preventing him from obtaining the bullet from his nostril.
“Roight. What the hell is going on?” asked Fjoinky.
“Just a sec-” said Tommy as he was dusting off his shirt after having exited the repeatedly aforementioned golf cart. He then proceeded to walk towards a strange glowing pink disc-shaped object with a dollar sign. A few moments later he returned and pretended as if nothing strange had happened. The rest were somewhat surprised, but they interpreted the look on Tommy’s face as a suggestion not to ask about this. So they didn’t. Tommy begun to speak.
“Okay guys, listen up, this is important. Have you heard anything about… Rodriguez Frichester and the Tsunami Machine?”
Fjoinky rolled the idea around in his head. Rodriguez Frichester and the Tsunami Machine…
Dougie piped up again: “Hey,” he said, “isn’t this the Eurovision entry that got disqualified because the creator was acting Danish?”
Tommy looked at Dougie in a manner that made Dougie feel regret about what he does alone at night when he thinks that everyone is sleeping.
“It isn’t,” said Fjoinky, “Rodriguez is a crime boss in these here parts. He dun smuggles all dem purty girls from dem country towns.”
Tommy stared at Fjoinky in the same way as that he’d stared at Dougie. Fjoinky dreamed about Xena.
“He’s right,” said Tommy, “we’ve got to take this clown down if we wanna rule this city.”
“Alright!” yelled Dougie as he did a breakdance.
“Oh bollocks,” said Fjoinky as he snapped from his happy place, “look at all these people and all these cars that have the keys conveniently left in them. I could aimlessly cruise around this place for months.”
A brief look of anger crossed Tommy’s polygonal face and he jumped in a nearby taxi. The taxi drove off as four guys with machineguns appeared out of nowhere and started following the taxi on Mopeds.
Fjoinky’s stomach growled and he looked towards Spandor.
“Spandor,” said Fjoinky as he menacingly approached him, “I think it’s about time that we tell you what happened to the clown.”
“Well, what happened is…” Fjoinky began, but then pushed Spandor, who tripped over Dougie, who was conveniently crouched down on all fours behind him. Fjoinky then jumped into a conveniently placed taxi which had a giant pink arrow pointing down at it from above.
“Phew!” exclaimed Dougie “That was close!”
“Indeed,” replied Fjoinky “but we still have to get rid of any suspicion over that damn clown! Any ideas?”
Fjoinky and Dougie both thought for a second. In fact, Dougie thought so hard he went cross-eyed. Suddenly Fjoinky had an idea.
“Driver! Take the next left!”
The driver obeyed and Fjoinky had him pull up next to a stragne pink circle with an odd symbol on it. Fjoinky walked over it and a great sense of relief filled Fjoinky and Dougie.
“Right….” Fjoinky began as he walked back to the taxi, but as he did, he noticed a Haitian-looking man walking towards him. All of a sudden, the man pulled out a machine gun and gunned Fjoinky down.
As things pulled back into focus, he saw a bright light and heard a monotonous voice.
“…Mr Fjoinky, welcome back…”
The voice belonged to Mr. Itor. Jan Itor.
“Wh… where am I?” asked Fjoinky.
Jan replied: “We’re still right here where you got gunned down. It might’ve made sense to bring you back to the hospital, but such rapid shifts in the storyline were messing up the continuity too much. Well, that and the fact that I like to make fun of you while you’re in mortal danger.” And then he tickled Fjoinky, and Fjoinky felt much pain.
It was just about then as a Banshee came to a screeching halt just nearby. The door opened and out came Dougie, who was carrying with him another one of those peculiar pink disk-shaped objects, only this one had an image of a heart embedded on it. He threw it at Fjoinky and he was miraculously healed.
“Cool” said Fjoinky, just before kicking Jan in the nutsch for tickling him earlier there. “That was really annoying”, he explained.
“Hmm. You’re probably right.” said Jan as he sat down and suddenly realised that pretty much everything he’d ever done had been extremely annoying to all the people around him. He was very pleased with his accomplishments and decided to celebrate that by juggling with some avocadoes he had found on the street.
Right about then, Tommy returned with a helicopter that he landed right there, in the middle of the street and said “Alright, guys, this is the big one. Grab your weapons and hop on!”
They were confused. Fjoinky inquired: “Uhh… our weapons?”
Tommy’s resulting stare of death was interrupted by a strange beating noise in the distance. Fjoinky looked around and spotted a police helicopter approaching them at high speed. Then another and another. They were surrounded. Dougie started humming the tune to Ride of the Valkyries but was interrupted when Tommy hit him with a baseball bat.
“We’ve gotta get out of here,” said Tommy, “once the cops are looking for us they seem to come out of nowhere repeatedly.”
Fjoinky grabbed Dougie by his ankle and dragged him into the nearby diner.
They could hear the helicopters hovering above. Many police vehicles arrived, containing identical cops. But Fjoinky and his intrepid crew seemed to have lucked out, since the police were unable to enter the diner. Instead, they stood outside. Occasionally some more police cars arrived and flipped over. The car would then catch fire and explode, killing more police. The food in the diner wasn’t all that, but the entertainment was good.
Tommy sat down at a table and ordered a coffee. Fjoinky decided to join him. He dragged Dougie over and made him sit at the table as well, he then proceeded to draw some pupils on Dougie’s eyelids, making it seem like he was staring straight in front of him. Fjoinky ordered a cup of coffee and a bowl of warm water, in which he placed Dougie’s hand. After Fjoinky put some napkins in Dougie’s ears, he pointed to Tommy’s coffee and spoke:
“My Bonnie lies over the ocean,” he said, “my Bonny lies over the sea.”
Tommy looked up from his coffee.
“Listen,” said Tommy, “the time that we spent together was magical, but you and Dougie don’t belong here.”
Fjoinky poured his cup of coffee on Dougie’s shirt.
“You have to leave here,” said Tommy, “I’ll help you get out.”
Fjoinky leaned to one side and farted.
“It’s not you, it’s me.” continued Tommy. “I’m hoping that we can still be friends.”
Tears welled up in Tommy’s eyes.
“You’re not crying about us leaving now?” asked Fjoinky. “We’ll be back.”
“No,” said Tommy, “it’s not that. It’s that smell. You should really consider a change of diet.”