Suddenly, disrupting the quiet occupations of all the PLBers (drinking and torturing included), an alarm wailed throughout the clubhouse. Each heart hardened to ice as the PLBers looked up to see a flashing, gaudy, red Christmas tree light-bulb that accompanied the klaxon.
Everyone scrambled to the PLB lounge. Some were more eager than others. Rive reluctantly departed from the pleasure he got in administering pain to Bonniegrrl. As he tore himself away from his life-long pursuit, she yelled out after him if he intended to keep her strapped to the table, drenched and coming down with a severe case of hypothermia, and he answered ‘yes’ without giving it a thought. As Rive passed DarthGenius’ chicken farm, he popped his head into the door, but forgot to open it first. The succeeding concussion made Genius think that someone was knocking.
“Come in!” he exclaimed before turning back to his work.
“Genius! There’s a meetin’ upstairs! Sounds like its urgent!”
“If you don’t mind, I have some chicken poop to clean up!” he said with annoyance, scrubbing all the harder.
“If the chickens were smart, they’d clean it up themselves.”
“Hey! An experiment! Brilliant, Rive!” Genious said, turning away to get to his lab, his white coat whipping after him.
“Not now, Genius,” Rive said.
“Oh, fine!” he said, tossing his poop-stained lab-coat down on a poop-stained chair.
The sheer size of the clubhouse could explain for the fact that it took almost an entire half hour for the PLB to assemble in the lounge. But, after much patience, they finally all milled about in the relatively small room. Vicomte, as usual, didn’t hesitate to say what was on his mind.
“Luuke, this better not be one of your stupid jokes again.”
“I swear,” Luuke started. “This is for real!”
“Luuke, are you sure you’re not drunk?” Kisa-Chan said, looking up at him with a suspicious gaze.
“No!” he said, his fists hitting against his thighs.
“Wait!” Leialookalike’s head shot from side to side as she scanned the group. “Where’s Amidalooine?”
“Yeah!” Dragonfang was barely audible wedged between Warthogjedi and Senator Sophia. “Where’s the warrior maiden gone off to? She’s two hours late from returning from her patrol!”
“We really should find them,” Vicomte cupped his chin in his hand, looking about the room.
“Wait!” Luuke tried desperately to control his club, getting up on a stool. He commanded so little attention, that when it fell backwards with him still upon it, nobody even noticed.
“We have to amass a search party!” Aurin’s voice drowned out the thud of Luuke’s body against the floor. “Break out the Repulsorlift Volkswagon!”
“STOP!” Luuke screamed, holding his head in his hands. The un-Luuke-ly scream commanded the attention of the clubhouse. “I had a vision.” He tried to get up and hit his head against the lower part of the ceiling. He peered up at the ceiling with an expression of pure menace, his head wedged between his arms.
Vicomte leaned aside to Stooge and whispered, “does he look like he’s got a hangover?”
“No, no, no… much worse,” Stooge replied. “He must’ve drunk that bad carton of bantha milk in the fridge. Poor guy!”
“Ami’s in trouble!” Luuke finally spoke, rubbing his sore head with rigor. “She is fighting a miniature AT-AT with antlers that wield lightsabers!”
The clubhouse fell dead silent with wondering faces. Each face, so unique and different from the other, seemed to meld into one general incredulous expression.
“Luuke,” Mina said soothingly. “Why don’t you lie down and get some sleep. I’ll get you that concoction I had you drink last time. You’ll feel a lot better in the morning!”
“But I tell you, she’s in trouble!”
“There, there!” Mina said, putting a gentle arm around his shoulder. She escorted him to his room and quietly shut the door behind him.
“Hallucination or not, we still have to go and look for Ami. That desert gets awfully cold at night,” Mina said, a lingering expression of pity on her face.
“Let’s get that Volkswagon fired up!” Diviner said. Picking JediMasterPickles and Sol Kassar from the crowd, Diviner and his team hurried themselves out to the Theed garage out back. Cramming into the ridiculous floating Beetle (one side dipped peculiarly toward Pickles), they sped off into the desert.
TO BE CONTINUED…
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
Monday, July 16, 2007
Return of the Dark Moose - Episode III
The PLB clubhouse was by far the most unusual structure that stood on four cornerstones. On the surface, it looked like a dejected (if not demented) sort of an adobe hut. It had the usual walls – sloping and slathered in plaster. It had the usual roof – a big, queer-looking dome. It had the usual look – sand-blasted and ready to fall apart. It had the unusual look – for some reason, the PLBers had the habit of plastering used beer-cans onto the walls. It was much more convenient than recycling.
But the eyes can deceive. The clubhouse was situated on a cliff-side. Or, let’s put it this way – 10% of it was on top of the cliff, 90% of it was in the cliff. Using lightsabers and fireworks, the PLB had managed to carve away tunnels, caves, and passageways that completely honey-combed the cliff. On the first level, the PLBers carved out a square-mile bathroom with enough stalls to accommodate a small city’s natural urges, a swimming pool big enough to be named a lake, and a hot-tub that could easily pass for a swimming pool.
The second level was even more fantastic – a volleyball court, tennis court, basketball court, and football field were all squeezed inside.
The third level was a bit smaller, and contained a pool table, a bar loaded with exotic drinks, and a 42-foot plasma screen TV for watching Star Wars, Firefly, and other favorites.
The fourth (and last) level was by far the favorite level of the entire club. It was small, barely furnished, dark, dank, and dreary. (This excluded the warm, sometimes smelly, chicken farm of Darthgenious’) In the center of a large room was a huge slab with straps to pin down even the brawniest of humans (or humanoids). On the walls were placed every torture device ever invented by sick people. Placed in the walls were small, barred cells for holding prisoners. Here was the Detention Level, the only Detention Level in history to actually be free of vermin. (The PLBers, when torturing prisoners, did not like to be distracted with squeaking rats.) Here were kept MOD prisoners of war.
Bonniegrrl was unfortunate enough to find herself on Level 4. Rive, donning his best Revan outfit, hovered over his ADMIN charge. Her wrists, ankles, and waist were securely strapped to the table. She wriggled and wormed, trying futilely to escape.
“My boyfriend will never allow you to get away with this!” she cried,
As Rive tightened a thumbscrew, he delighted in her howls of pain.
“And who is your boyfriend?” Rive asked mockingly. “Dark Moose?”
“I’ll never… Ok, ok, ok! I’ll tell! Yes, it’s him!”
The thumbscrew, Rive thought, was the best of motivators.
“That’s strange,” Rive said, rubbing his chin. “Two days ago, intelligence indicated that Moose has been regularly visiting Karen Traviss.”
“What?! NO!”
“I’ll give you a water break,” he said maliciously and pulled a rusty lever. Out of the ceiling descended a large, red, Igloo beverage cooler.
“What is that?” Bonniegrrl asked, breathless from the thumbscrew experience.
“Oh, this…” Rive said distractedly. “This is my masterpiece – Rivese Water Torture.” He rattled the cooler a few times to make sure it would work.
“What is, Rivese?” she asked, a nervous look in her eyes.
“It’s a demented variation of Chinese Water Torture. The Chinese version slowly drips water on your head until you go mad. To accommodate the American lifestyle, I speed up the process for convenience.”
With that, Rive pulled the lever, and the entire cooler of freezing water dumped onto the unfortunate prisoner.
“For whose convenience?!” Bonniegrrl gasped.
Rive’s mood shot right through his concealing mask.
“Mine.”
But the eyes can deceive. The clubhouse was situated on a cliff-side. Or, let’s put it this way – 10% of it was on top of the cliff, 90% of it was in the cliff. Using lightsabers and fireworks, the PLB had managed to carve away tunnels, caves, and passageways that completely honey-combed the cliff. On the first level, the PLBers carved out a square-mile bathroom with enough stalls to accommodate a small city’s natural urges, a swimming pool big enough to be named a lake, and a hot-tub that could easily pass for a swimming pool.
The second level was even more fantastic – a volleyball court, tennis court, basketball court, and football field were all squeezed inside.
The third level was a bit smaller, and contained a pool table, a bar loaded with exotic drinks, and a 42-foot plasma screen TV for watching Star Wars, Firefly, and other favorites.
The fourth (and last) level was by far the favorite level of the entire club. It was small, barely furnished, dark, dank, and dreary. (This excluded the warm, sometimes smelly, chicken farm of Darthgenious’) In the center of a large room was a huge slab with straps to pin down even the brawniest of humans (or humanoids). On the walls were placed every torture device ever invented by sick people. Placed in the walls were small, barred cells for holding prisoners. Here was the Detention Level, the only Detention Level in history to actually be free of vermin. (The PLBers, when torturing prisoners, did not like to be distracted with squeaking rats.) Here were kept MOD prisoners of war.
Bonniegrrl was unfortunate enough to find herself on Level 4. Rive, donning his best Revan outfit, hovered over his ADMIN charge. Her wrists, ankles, and waist were securely strapped to the table. She wriggled and wormed, trying futilely to escape.
“My boyfriend will never allow you to get away with this!” she cried,
As Rive tightened a thumbscrew, he delighted in her howls of pain.
“And who is your boyfriend?” Rive asked mockingly. “Dark Moose?”
“I’ll never… Ok, ok, ok! I’ll tell! Yes, it’s him!”
The thumbscrew, Rive thought, was the best of motivators.
“That’s strange,” Rive said, rubbing his chin. “Two days ago, intelligence indicated that Moose has been regularly visiting Karen Traviss.”
“What?! NO!”
“I’ll give you a water break,” he said maliciously and pulled a rusty lever. Out of the ceiling descended a large, red, Igloo beverage cooler.
“What is that?” Bonniegrrl asked, breathless from the thumbscrew experience.
“Oh, this…” Rive said distractedly. “This is my masterpiece – Rivese Water Torture.” He rattled the cooler a few times to make sure it would work.
“What is, Rivese?” she asked, a nervous look in her eyes.
“It’s a demented variation of Chinese Water Torture. The Chinese version slowly drips water on your head until you go mad. To accommodate the American lifestyle, I speed up the process for convenience.”
With that, Rive pulled the lever, and the entire cooler of freezing water dumped onto the unfortunate prisoner.
“For whose convenience?!” Bonniegrrl gasped.
Rive’s mood shot right through his concealing mask.
“Mine.”
Saturday, June 30, 2007
Return of the Dark Moose - Episode II
The desert sands were harsh, unforgiving, used routinely as an abrasive by many cleaner manufacturers – and some of it was lodged securely in Amidalooine’s eye. From her survival kit (which usually carried makeup, a flask of preferred alcohol, and plenty of forged credit cards), she took out a bottle of saline. She opened it and put it over the irritated eye, expecting the cool relief of imitated tears – but instead, she got only a blast of air from the nozzle.
“Great!” she said, throwing the saline bottle to the ground. “There’s the last.”
“Me too,” MJM said passively, throwing his to the ground as well. “Maam, we need to head back to base. Without saline, our forces will rapidly lose their visibility. We must replenish, flush these grains from our eyes, and start out again.” As he talked, he blinked profusely.
“Fall back!”
The beleaguered forces began to stumble back in the direction of the PLB clubhouse. Suddenly, the hot, dry air chilled with a gravely laugh.
“Going so soon, my dear friends?”
Ami turned to see a six-foot tall AT-AT standing on a distant dune, its red eyes staring fixedly on Amidalooine. MJM, with what courage he could muster, shook a soda can and stepped forward.
“What do you want?” he asked loudly.
Amidalooine nudged him and whispered, “That’s my line!”
“Sorry!” he replied, keeping his voice down.
“What do you want?” Amidalooine shouted.
The AT-AT tilted its head to one side.
“Your immediate and unconditional surrender,” he said plainly.
“Make me,” Amidalooine growled.
The AT-AT let out a gravelly exhalation, and looked to the sand.
“So sorry to hear you say that.”
At that moment, hundreds of blue-coated soldiers with blue face-paint, shoes, and socks stepped up from behind a dune. In their hands they held gleaming bronzium Yodas. Their grinning teeth contrasted sharply with their facepaint.
Amidalooine gasped.
“What are you?”
“I am your worst nightmare. MODs, attack!”
Amidalooine ignited her lightsaber and charged at the mechanical beast, but the creature benignly strolled behind his men. The soldiers tossed their bronzium Yodas high into the air. MJM’s soda-can-toting boys had no chance. One by one, each was kidnapped by the sudden embrace of unconciousness. Even Amidalooine, though she sliced many a MOD, felt something hard and bronzium send her into the abyss. Before fading, she managed to send one, weak plea through the Force – “help”.
Luuke looked around him in surprise. The desert was smooth, breezeless, and blaring. The very atmosphere seemed to envelope him like a… like a… warm blanket. He walked forward, barely feeling the ground beneath his own feet. Suddenly, he saw her - Amidalooine, standing alone against thousands of… things. Blue things… They were hazy, and indistinct, yet he could feel their menace. He could see many of MJM’s troops lying in the sand, their eyes closed. They appeared to be sleeping. Amidalooine suddenly stopped, and looked straight at him. The gaze was piercing and inescapable. It grabbed Luuke’s very heart and turned it cold.
“Luuke, help me.”
Her voice to seemed to echo for a minute before she screamed and collapsed. A bronzium Yoda had hit her on the head. A trickle of blood ran through her hair and down her forehead. Luuke shouted in anger and fear, and rushed toward her…
Luuke woke up with a start. His body was wet with perspiration. His room felt dark and stuffy. He tossed aside the sheets and rushed out into the hallway. Mina stood against a wall, serenely sipping a beer. She quickly spewed it out in laughter.
“I have to help Ami!” Luuke shouted.
“Please do,” Mina said with a grin. “But do get dressed first.”
Luuke looked down and realized he had little on but a pair of underwear and an undershirt. He jumped back into his bedroom and slammed the door.
“You didn’t have to stare!” he said angrily.
His face flushed as he heard Mina start to laugh.
“Great!” she said, throwing the saline bottle to the ground. “There’s the last.”
“Me too,” MJM said passively, throwing his to the ground as well. “Maam, we need to head back to base. Without saline, our forces will rapidly lose their visibility. We must replenish, flush these grains from our eyes, and start out again.” As he talked, he blinked profusely.
“Fall back!”
The beleaguered forces began to stumble back in the direction of the PLB clubhouse. Suddenly, the hot, dry air chilled with a gravely laugh.
“Going so soon, my dear friends?”
Ami turned to see a six-foot tall AT-AT standing on a distant dune, its red eyes staring fixedly on Amidalooine. MJM, with what courage he could muster, shook a soda can and stepped forward.
“What do you want?” he asked loudly.
Amidalooine nudged him and whispered, “That’s my line!”
“Sorry!” he replied, keeping his voice down.
“What do you want?” Amidalooine shouted.
The AT-AT tilted its head to one side.
“Your immediate and unconditional surrender,” he said plainly.
“Make me,” Amidalooine growled.
The AT-AT let out a gravelly exhalation, and looked to the sand.
“So sorry to hear you say that.”
At that moment, hundreds of blue-coated soldiers with blue face-paint, shoes, and socks stepped up from behind a dune. In their hands they held gleaming bronzium Yodas. Their grinning teeth contrasted sharply with their facepaint.
Amidalooine gasped.
“What are you?”
“I am your worst nightmare. MODs, attack!”
Amidalooine ignited her lightsaber and charged at the mechanical beast, but the creature benignly strolled behind his men. The soldiers tossed their bronzium Yodas high into the air. MJM’s soda-can-toting boys had no chance. One by one, each was kidnapped by the sudden embrace of unconciousness. Even Amidalooine, though she sliced many a MOD, felt something hard and bronzium send her into the abyss. Before fading, she managed to send one, weak plea through the Force – “help”.
Luuke looked around him in surprise. The desert was smooth, breezeless, and blaring. The very atmosphere seemed to envelope him like a… like a… warm blanket. He walked forward, barely feeling the ground beneath his own feet. Suddenly, he saw her - Amidalooine, standing alone against thousands of… things. Blue things… They were hazy, and indistinct, yet he could feel their menace. He could see many of MJM’s troops lying in the sand, their eyes closed. They appeared to be sleeping. Amidalooine suddenly stopped, and looked straight at him. The gaze was piercing and inescapable. It grabbed Luuke’s very heart and turned it cold.
“Luuke, help me.”
Her voice to seemed to echo for a minute before she screamed and collapsed. A bronzium Yoda had hit her on the head. A trickle of blood ran through her hair and down her forehead. Luuke shouted in anger and fear, and rushed toward her…
Luuke woke up with a start. His body was wet with perspiration. His room felt dark and stuffy. He tossed aside the sheets and rushed out into the hallway. Mina stood against a wall, serenely sipping a beer. She quickly spewed it out in laughter.
“I have to help Ami!” Luuke shouted.
“Please do,” Mina said with a grin. “But do get dressed first.”
Luuke looked down and realized he had little on but a pair of underwear and an undershirt. He jumped back into his bedroom and slammed the door.
“You didn’t have to stare!” he said angrily.
His face flushed as he heard Mina start to laugh.
Thursday, May 10, 2007
Return of the Dark Moose - Episode I
The PLB clubhouse was hardly anything to look at. It was an old, adobe hut situated on the top of a cliff in the middle of the desert. Old, rusty signs making false claims of radioactive testing sites, missile silos, attack dogs, and a ravenous T-rex littered the surrounding 47 square miles. It would deter any sensible person and attract like flies every nosy school-kid in the U.S.
What kept everyone away was the fact that only one of the four claims was true. There just happened to be an attack T-rex lurking in a large cave on the very outskirts of PLB territory.
Not many of the famed ‘500’ (a group of overconfident fourth-graders) escaped its jaws, and since then, no one has dared bother them.
Bravo 225 didn’t think the clubhouse was that bad… Yeah, it did need a new plaster job, but that was the least of the PLB’s problems. Bravo lifted a blanket off of the back of a landspeeder, revealing a wholly amazing sight of twenty-five twelve-packs – 300 beers in all, to be precise.
He smiled, but quickly grimaced as a gust of wind launched the harsh and angry desert sands into his face. One by one, he began to lug the beers into the clubhouse.
“Bravo!” Luuke shouted to his friend, running over.
Bravo 225 was relieved. He watched gleefully as Luuke came toward him. Surely he would help!
“I’m glad you’re back!” Luuke said, giving Bravo a noogie. Tearing a beer bottle right out of the case, he happily strolled back into the clubhouse.
Bravo grumbled curses under his breath, and continued lugging the beer cases into the clubhouse hallway.
“Bravo!” Ami cried, looking like she had seen an angel. “Beer!”
“Yes!!!” Warthogjedi shouted.
“Squuueeeee!” Hansgirl couldn’t help herself.
“Would anyone like to help me bring the beer in?” Bravo panted.
His face grew red as silence descended onto the group. Another volley of curses emanated from Bravo’s vocal chords.
“There’s a story I have to tell…” Bravo droned, half to himself. “There once was a hen, a goose, a cat, and a pig...”
Suddenly, Rive, Vicomte, and Stooge burst into the room.
“There he is!” Rive pointed.
“No counterfeit limericks on StarWars.com!” Vicomte said, his voice dripping battery acid.
“YEAH!” Stooge cheered.
“The hen decided to make some bread, and asked if anyone would help her!” Bravo screamed, dropping the beer and running for his life into the living room.
“Catch him!” Rive shouted.
“Not I, said the pig, Not I, said the cat, Not I said the duck – er, goose!”
Amid all the commotion, Master Jedi Michael crisply marched into the room, clicking his heels and straightening his back in front of Luuke.
“Reporting for duty, sir!” he said, chest puffed out.
“Take your men on patrol, Sergeant Michael. Ami will command the troops.”
“Yessir!”
Luuke watched MJM march out the door and repositioned himself on the couch. Something didn’t feel right. He tried to think.
“So I will have to bake the bread myself, said the hen!” Bravo was almost breathless as his pursuers closed in. He ran ever faster as Vicomte let out a rebel yell.
“Will you guys tone it down, I’m trying to think here,” Luuke shouted.
“And the Knights Beerhausen close in on their foe!” Vicomte cried.
A subtle thud reverberated through the floor of the clubhouse, followed by three others. The chase had ended.
Now Luuke could think and tap into the force… A dark premonition shadowed his feelings… Could it be a MOD spy, infiltrating the clubhouse? Or was it the fact that Bravo was being beaten silly in the next room? Or was it guilt? He should have helped Bravo take in the beer. Yes, that was it! He brushed the silly feeling aside and walked outside to unload the beer.
Besides, he thought, Bravo wasn’t going to be in any shape to carry in anything, let alone stand. He wondered if they had extra steaks in the freezer downstairs. Bravo was going to need them.
What kept everyone away was the fact that only one of the four claims was true. There just happened to be an attack T-rex lurking in a large cave on the very outskirts of PLB territory.
Not many of the famed ‘500’ (a group of overconfident fourth-graders) escaped its jaws, and since then, no one has dared bother them.
Bravo 225 didn’t think the clubhouse was that bad… Yeah, it did need a new plaster job, but that was the least of the PLB’s problems. Bravo lifted a blanket off of the back of a landspeeder, revealing a wholly amazing sight of twenty-five twelve-packs – 300 beers in all, to be precise.
He smiled, but quickly grimaced as a gust of wind launched the harsh and angry desert sands into his face. One by one, he began to lug the beers into the clubhouse.
“Bravo!” Luuke shouted to his friend, running over.
Bravo 225 was relieved. He watched gleefully as Luuke came toward him. Surely he would help!
“I’m glad you’re back!” Luuke said, giving Bravo a noogie. Tearing a beer bottle right out of the case, he happily strolled back into the clubhouse.
Bravo grumbled curses under his breath, and continued lugging the beer cases into the clubhouse hallway.
“Bravo!” Ami cried, looking like she had seen an angel. “Beer!”
“Yes!!!” Warthogjedi shouted.
“Squuueeeee!” Hansgirl couldn’t help herself.
“Would anyone like to help me bring the beer in?” Bravo panted.
His face grew red as silence descended onto the group. Another volley of curses emanated from Bravo’s vocal chords.
“There’s a story I have to tell…” Bravo droned, half to himself. “There once was a hen, a goose, a cat, and a pig...”
Suddenly, Rive, Vicomte, and Stooge burst into the room.
“There he is!” Rive pointed.
“No counterfeit limericks on StarWars.com!” Vicomte said, his voice dripping battery acid.
“YEAH!” Stooge cheered.
“The hen decided to make some bread, and asked if anyone would help her!” Bravo screamed, dropping the beer and running for his life into the living room.
“Catch him!” Rive shouted.
“Not I, said the pig, Not I, said the cat, Not I said the duck – er, goose!”
Amid all the commotion, Master Jedi Michael crisply marched into the room, clicking his heels and straightening his back in front of Luuke.
“Reporting for duty, sir!” he said, chest puffed out.
“Take your men on patrol, Sergeant Michael. Ami will command the troops.”
“Yessir!”
Luuke watched MJM march out the door and repositioned himself on the couch. Something didn’t feel right. He tried to think.
“So I will have to bake the bread myself, said the hen!” Bravo was almost breathless as his pursuers closed in. He ran ever faster as Vicomte let out a rebel yell.
“Will you guys tone it down, I’m trying to think here,” Luuke shouted.
“And the Knights Beerhausen close in on their foe!” Vicomte cried.
A subtle thud reverberated through the floor of the clubhouse, followed by three others. The chase had ended.
Now Luuke could think and tap into the force… A dark premonition shadowed his feelings… Could it be a MOD spy, infiltrating the clubhouse? Or was it the fact that Bravo was being beaten silly in the next room? Or was it guilt? He should have helped Bravo take in the beer. Yes, that was it! He brushed the silly feeling aside and walked outside to unload the beer.
Besides, he thought, Bravo wasn’t going to be in any shape to carry in anything, let alone stand. He wondered if they had extra steaks in the freezer downstairs. Bravo was going to need them.
Saturday, May 5, 2007
Welcome!
This is the new home for the as-of-yet unfinished Return of the Dark Moose series. The current episodes will be re-edited and remastered in THX (Tailored for Hilarium X edition).
Hopefully, if I can summon the unfinished plot to the fore of my brain, I can finally finish the series once and for all, and possibly start one that's been bouncing around in my head for quite a while - Lightning Bug.
Stay tuned!
Hopefully, if I can summon the unfinished plot to the fore of my brain, I can finally finish the series once and for all, and possibly start one that's been bouncing around in my head for quite a while - Lightning Bug.
Stay tuned!
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