Written by masterchev
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Saturday, 8 January 2011

image for Born to Spoof: Chapter Fourteen: The Life and Death of Mark Lowton Time begins to collapse, with consequences to the Spoofers

"I bloody hope that's not innuendo," I remarked wryly, watching as #3 and her quartet of clones entered our cell. Jean La Fete was the first to approach the woman who held his heart in her palm.

"Honey, why do we keep fighting like this?" he muttered sadly. "I can change my ways. Cut the alcohol. Get rid of that bloody portrait of Dean Martin if I must,"

"You have a portrait of Dean Martin? Fuck me that's sad Jean. You should come out with me one time. I'd get you so out of your head, you'd think Exeter was in Norwich," Skoob piped up, before proceeding to join Jaggedone in the kicking of the burning Gerbil Queen.

"Remember I poisoned you in the TARDIS honey? And yet you recovered remarkably quickly for someone who had just been poisoned? There's a secret to be told there,"

"Uh guys," I piped up from the corner, stepping to my comrade's side and facing the rainbow haired vixen of 3.5. I winked wryly at her before continuing. "Shouldn't we be on some massive hunt for that floaty guy who appeared in a non-hallucigenic and non-drug related vision?"

"Hate to say it, but Masterchev's right," Charpa grinned, adjusting her fish net stocking as a knuckleduster. "We need to find this nun before all of reality becomes all bendy,"

"Great use of adjective Charpa. Is the nun a nice one?" JO remarked.

As the Spoofers began arguing amongst themselves, I shut my eyes and listened to the madness which had erupted: Jean was once again at arms with his former lover, 3.45 and 3.25 were arguing over who would kill who first, and the Spoofers were remarking on Charpa's non-use of the Oxford's Dictionary. Memories began to flicker beneath my eyelids: hiding in a haybale, observing as I was trapped in this medieval nightmare.

And a few seconds before. Watching as I was transported in a cage to a small medieval village. My memory erased. In the care of a young woman who later died for her beliefs.

"Guys, I think we can get to the convent in time. I know where it is," I realised, raising my voice just above the din which resembled the House of Commons.

Then a shining light engulfed the room. Each occupant froze in awe, watching as the other started to disappear. Above all came the din of the mysterious Buddah figure's voice.

"Time has collapsed. All is lost!"
*
From his window in a nearby convent, Mark witnessed as a gaol imploded. The impossible was happening: and it would make one hell of a Spoof.

"Marsha, if you do not embrace your new self, then we shall force you?"

"You've turned me into a woman! You've robbed all my masculinity and made me into a she-male! How can I embrace this?"

"A good vajazzling might help," the enigmatic nun whispered, then coughed slightly at the thought. "Nonetheless, you will become Marsha,"

"That's illegal. I've spent eleven years resitting a one year law course in different colleges up and down the country. I know you can't just implant someone's personality into someone's head. It's impossible in the Medieval Ages!"

"We did it to your friend the Welsh one," the Nun replied sinisterly.

The last thought Mark Lowton ever had was that no-one would remember him. His last vision was of a man in a bird mask forcing a needle into his arm: implanting a stranger's thoughts into his head.
*
Darkness everywhere. The ticking of clocks. Nothingness.

"Jean? Skoob? Anyone?" I gulped, attempting to break the illusion of darkness which had surrounded my body. I was isolated in a limbo-like place. A new experience: not too dissimilar to the South Walian Valleys: a place untouched by time.

"Quiet down Romeo, it's just me and you," replied a sneering voice. An orb of green light blossomed before my eyes to reveal the rainbow coloured vixen from previously.

"What the hell? I have personal space issues darling. Could you at least send me a Facebook request before you sneak up on me like that?"

"For God sake, just shut up. We've been seperated from the other Spoofers in Limbo. You know what that means yeah?"

"Course. I'm Welsh, not stupid love. So what you're saying is that all the Spoofers have been forced through another wormhole into a timeless dimension: seperated by thousands of miles of nothingness?"

3.5 grimaced, placing a small hand onto my arm. "'Fraid so,"

"Just what we needed. Another fucking obstacle"
*

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

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