6 DEGREES OF DECAPITATION
an ongoing literary atrocity
CHAPTER 24: Twenty-Four
an ongoing literary atrocity
CHAPTER 24: Twenty-Four
THIS CHAPTER TAKES PLACE BETWEEN 5:00 AM and 6:00 AM
On a Tuesday
But I'm not telling you which one
On a Tuesday
But I'm not telling you which one
"Where are you taking us?" asked Playful1. It was a question she wanted answered, especially since her partner in adventure and this novel's former narrator Furious D had just taken a tumble off a cliff after being shot. GiGi on the other hand had other worries.
"I hope you know that this rope is seriously wrinkling my outfit," declared GiGi in a state of vanity fueled indignation.
Chompy the Badger shook his head and shed a little badger tear for the loss of his friend, a pal with whom he had shared many adventures and more than the occasional fatal badger mauling. Deep in his heart the badger knew that his old friend had died the way he had lived, screaming and flailing his arms madly.
"There's something odd about this chapter," said Playful1 as the villainous Gaston LaFarge's goons picked her, GiGi and Chompy up to put in a large black van.
"I know," said GiGi. "It all seems so urgent."
-said the new author conveniently referring to himself in the 3rd person like the others before him.
"Where's Stephen King?" asked Playful1.
"Who are you?" asked GiGi.
"That's nice and all, but can you tell us what's happening?" asked Playful1.
The van's engine roared to life and they were sped off to points unknown.
"Double dog damn it!" howled Furious D as he pulled himself out of the thrashing waters of the bay and onto a cold hard rock. His shoulder screamed at him. Something like: "I gotta goddamn bullet in me!" but with more f-words.
Furious D looked around for something, anything he could use to treat his wound, which was also full of salty water, which naturally stung like a son-of-a-bitch being stung by angry hornets who also happen to be on fire.
Then he saw it.
It was a canvas bag lying on the nearby beach, Furious D recognized that it was more than a common bag, it was an official top-secret CTU man-purse.
Furious D got to his feet, ran to the man-purse and looked inside. In the front pocket he found a 9mm Sig Sauer automatic pistol, a cell phone, a small torch for caramelizing gourmet pastries, a pocket knife, and a pack of sterile bandages. It was everything he needed.
First Furious D drove the knife into his bullet wound. It hurt like hell was having a three-for-one sale on pain, but kept fishing around the wound for the bullet.
Bingo!
The bullet popped out and landed on the beach. Furious D then lit the small torch and heated the knife blade until it was white hot. He had to stop the bleeding, and though painful, it was the quickest way to get the job done, and Furious D was all about getting the job done fast.
"No I'm not," said Furious D. "I'm more along the lines of a using the cell phone to call an ambulance and get some morphine kind of guy."
Furious D drove the white hot blade into his gunshot wound.
"Did you hear that?" asked GiGi.
Playful1 nodded. "It sounded like a really girlish scream."
Chompy knew what that sound was and what it meant.
It meant his compadre, his muchacho, his comrade in butt-kicking was still alive.
And that meant that the folks who made him scream so girlishly were going to pay.
With interest, and penalties.
Revenge was going to be like a student loan, and Furious D would stop at nothing to collect.
When Furious D regained consciousness he was still on the beach. His shoulder wound had stopped bleeding, but it still felt like a hemorrhoid getting a rub down from Andre the Giant with large grit sandpaper.
The cell phone was ringing.
Furious D answered.
"Hello," said Furious D.
"Furious!" said Chloe the nerdy, yet strangely hot operative, from her desk at CTU HQ. "I knew we'd find you! She then turned to her supervisor and said: "And you said dropping our bags on random beaches weren't going to find him!"
"What's the sit-rep Chloe?" asked Furious D, slipping back into the chattering jargon of the job he held before he became a treasure hunting private eye vampire slayer to the stars, super butt kicking secret agent.
"What?"
"What's happening?"
"Oh," said Chloe. "Right, situation report. Well, the President needs you to find the lost Albanian Budgie before Gaston LaFarge gets it and sells it to terrorists."
"Too late," replied Furious D. "Gaston LaFarge already has the Budgie and he's also kidnapped my pet badger and two of my MySpace buddies."
"He's got Chompy?" said Chloe, unable to contain her shock. "The bastard!"
"I need a chopper ASAP," said Furious D as he ran up the beach to the main road. "I can still cut them off."
"I've got good news and I've got bad news," said Chloe. "The good new is that the radar says that there is a chopper heading right for you."
"What's the bad news?" asked Furious D.
"It's belongs to LaFarge, and it's got a lot of guns."
"Bugger."
"I hope you know that this rope is seriously wrinkling my outfit," declared GiGi in a state of vanity fueled indignation.
Chompy the Badger shook his head and shed a little badger tear for the loss of his friend, a pal with whom he had shared many adventures and more than the occasional fatal badger mauling. Deep in his heart the badger knew that his old friend had died the way he had lived, screaming and flailing his arms madly.
"There's something odd about this chapter," said Playful1 as the villainous Gaston LaFarge's goons picked her, GiGi and Chompy up to put in a large black van.
"I know," said GiGi. "It all seems so urgent."
That's me-
-said the new author conveniently referring to himself in the 3rd person like the others before him.
"Where's Stephen King?" asked Playful1.
He realized that he was wasting his time here and went off to write another best-seller.
"Who are you?" asked GiGi.
I'm Joel Surnow, the creator of the hit TV show 24. I also created the TV version of La Femme Nikita.
"That's nice and all, but can you tell us what's happening?" asked Playful1.
Sorry, can't ruin the suspense.
The van's engine roared to life and they were sped off to points unknown.
#
"Double dog damn it!" howled Furious D as he pulled himself out of the thrashing waters of the bay and onto a cold hard rock. His shoulder screamed at him. Something like: "I gotta goddamn bullet in me!" but with more f-words.
Furious D looked around for something, anything he could use to treat his wound, which was also full of salty water, which naturally stung like a son-of-a-bitch being stung by angry hornets who also happen to be on fire.
Then he saw it.
It was a canvas bag lying on the nearby beach, Furious D recognized that it was more than a common bag, it was an official top-secret CTU man-purse.
Furious D got to his feet, ran to the man-purse and looked inside. In the front pocket he found a 9mm Sig Sauer automatic pistol, a cell phone, a small torch for caramelizing gourmet pastries, a pocket knife, and a pack of sterile bandages. It was everything he needed.
First Furious D drove the knife into his bullet wound. It hurt like hell was having a three-for-one sale on pain, but kept fishing around the wound for the bullet.
Bingo!
The bullet popped out and landed on the beach. Furious D then lit the small torch and heated the knife blade until it was white hot. He had to stop the bleeding, and though painful, it was the quickest way to get the job done, and Furious D was all about getting the job done fast.
"No I'm not," said Furious D. "I'm more along the lines of a using the cell phone to call an ambulance and get some morphine kind of guy."
Don't be a pussy.
Furious D drove the white hot blade into his gunshot wound.
#
"Did you hear that?" asked GiGi.
Playful1 nodded. "It sounded like a really girlish scream."
Chompy knew what that sound was and what it meant.
It meant his compadre, his muchacho, his comrade in butt-kicking was still alive.
And that meant that the folks who made him scream so girlishly were going to pay.
With interest, and penalties.
Revenge was going to be like a student loan, and Furious D would stop at nothing to collect.
#
When Furious D regained consciousness he was still on the beach. His shoulder wound had stopped bleeding, but it still felt like a hemorrhoid getting a rub down from Andre the Giant with large grit sandpaper.
The cell phone was ringing.
Furious D answered.
"Hello," said Furious D.
"Furious!" said Chloe the nerdy, yet strangely hot operative, from her desk at CTU HQ. "I knew we'd find you! She then turned to her supervisor and said: "And you said dropping our bags on random beaches weren't going to find him!"
"What's the sit-rep Chloe?" asked Furious D, slipping back into the chattering jargon of the job he held before he became a treasure hunting private eye vampire slayer to the stars, super butt kicking secret agent.
"What?"
"What's happening?"
"Oh," said Chloe. "Right, situation report. Well, the President needs you to find the lost Albanian Budgie before Gaston LaFarge gets it and sells it to terrorists."
"Too late," replied Furious D. "Gaston LaFarge already has the Budgie and he's also kidnapped my pet badger and two of my MySpace buddies."
"He's got Chompy?" said Chloe, unable to contain her shock. "The bastard!"
"I need a chopper ASAP," said Furious D as he ran up the beach to the main road. "I can still cut them off."
"I've got good news and I've got bad news," said Chloe. "The good new is that the radar says that there is a chopper heading right for you."
"What's the bad news?" asked Furious D.
"It's belongs to LaFarge, and it's got a lot of guns."
"Bugger."
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