A usual recipe for disaster would involve letting loose around twenty Spoof writers onto Brighton Beach for an hour. Chaos would ensue, I guarantee.
Being on some deserted island in the middle of the Indian Ocean, dripping with blood and faeces following the Gerbils' ambush however would not be a pleasant sight.
#3 was in her element, and led us down a narrow jungle path. Everywhere was the sound of parrots, which scared a very feverish Skoob.
"Are we nearly there yet?" Skoob asked after a good half an hour.
"We're about three miles, which is the length of the M6 which they shut every day," #3 explained as she toyed with the machete in her hand. Her other clung to my shirt; as though she was leading me on. Or subconsciously revealing herself.
"Well I be damned," Morse exclaimed as the cave entrance grew above us.
"Two guesses that the bloody Key of Thumbs is in the Cave?" Masterchev moaned.
"Well that's the usual idea. You didn't think we'd have to come all this way if we could have the Key delivered over Amazon ay?" Charpa replied patiently, tapping the young Welshman on the head.
Morse handed out some Morrison torches and inserted some batteries into his own pirate themed torch. We entered the gloom, our torches paling in comparison to the darkness.
Enjoying the feel of isolation the darkness brought, I spoke out: realising how hoarse my voice sounded in the echoing blackness.
"Can anyone else hear something?" I asked, wishing I was back home in my armchair next to the stuffed moose head which hung above the fireplace.
Everyone stopped, and the sound of machinery grew. Drilling. Chainsawing. Roaring furnaces.
A door appeared in Jaggedone's torch, with a frosted window above it. Skoob was the first to glance through it, much to the displeasure of #3 who was eager to go first.
"It's some funny looking guy," he giggled. "But he doesn't want my autograph. Ooh, he's coming to the door."
The door was booted open directly into Skoob's face, sending him backwards. He revealed his front teeth, before attempted to jump at the new arrival.
"Who the fuck are you?" I asked, answering the question which seemed to be on everyone's mind. The new arrival didn't speak however, just examined each one of us in turn. The drilling continued, and in the light of my Thomas the Tank torch, I noticed a thumb shaped key dangling around his neck.
Then the gunfire began.
Impossibly, the New Arrival began firing bullets from his hand.
"Get the hell outta here!" #3 offered as we began to scatter down the cave we had just explored.
The torches failed, plunging us into darkness. It couldn't be that far, could it? But the sounds of the others running seemed to become fainter. Something squeezed my inner thigh, and I felt myself tighten.
"Carina?" I whispered, trying my hardest not to breath too loud.
"Jean, thank God. Is there any chance you could breathe a little quiter?"
"Blimey Carina, it's like you can read the lame descriptions which come after my speech," I replied.
From the other end of the tunnel, we noticed a nameless figure silhouetted against the daylight.
"Who the hell is that?"
"The guardian of the Key of Thumbs. One of Mark's little toys. The prototype of the Ultimate Spoof Writer," she replied, before a thousand volts exploded through my body. In slow motion, I noticed as another figure stepped out from the shadow and tazed Carina.
The torch lit itself again, and from it's shitty batteries I could see the identity of the tazer.
It was Mark. He was here.