Written by masterchev
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Saturday, 13 November 2010

Usually when a guy wakes up in someone else's bed, he feels a sense of unease and curiosity.

My eyes wide open, I observed the thatched roof first. Kinda itchy I suppose. Not as itchy as the bloody bedsheets were.

The door opened, and in walked a rather slim and pretty woman wearing what appeared to be a dress.

"Signor Blanco, I apologise for disturbing you, but that's nothing compared to what Master Roberto was complaining about. I think we should have been a little quieter."

"Who are you?" I said groggily. I felt like I was nursing an insane hangover: like the ones I used to get at the...

A long bar, with a man in a pork pie hat pulling the lever

"I am Lady Olivia of the Southern Downs remember silly? We've known each other since we were children, when we used to hide in the apple carts on those long summer nights?"

"I... don't remember..." I replied groggily, trying desperately to recall something. There were no memories however: only nothingness.

"Come, we shall walk the market stall. You'd best beware though. The Gerbils of Hell movement is rife outside!" she laughed, then stuck out a hand. Uncertainly, I grabbed it and was hoisted out of my bed.

Then she looked down.

"I'd put some clothes on if I were you first,"
*

Charpa sat down at the bar of the Oasis Bar and Grill, watching as Skoob was polishing yet another glass.

"Hey Shuttlecock, where is everyone going? La Fete went first. Then Masterchev? What the hell's happening?"

"I like planes and trains. Maybe they took a plane and a train together. Lucky bastards," Skoob answered innocently, his hand already twitching on the secret lever. Instead, he chose to adjust his pork pie hat to cover his dark eyebrows.

"If you see Masterchev, will you let me know? I found something... interesting..." she replied, then swanned out of the Bar. Alone in the Oasis Bar and Grill, nobody saw Skoob take off his pork pie hat to reveal a hidden microphone.

"Boss, it's me. We've got another one,"
*
We were walking along a deserted marketplace. In the distance we could hear a town crier announcing it was 6:53 exactly, and we should beware the Gerbils of Hell.

Standing on a pirate ship, throwing bullets at six foot gerbils.

"Are you okay my love? You seem to be dazing off a bit. Look, it's Lord Wortham and his new butler: Mr. Jean!" Olivia pointed excitedly to where a tall man with a long scar on his face was walking animatedly next to a man who resembled Dean Martin.

A man like Dean Martin standing in a time machine, slowly collapsing to the floor as the redhead drugged him

"I... remember..." I croaked. "La... Fete?"

The town bell started ringing furiously. Lord Wortham and Mr. Jean noticed it immediately, before running inside.

"We need to get inside now! The Leader of the Gerbils of Hell is coming!"

"And who the hell is she?" I asked, recovering from my memory trip.

"Nobody knows. She's only known by a number."

We ducked inside a haybale and watched as an elegant woman dropped down from a horse. Long slivers of red hair fell from her hat, concealing her face.

"Number four"

The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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