"Those Tacos were delicious, Mr the J-Man," Nick says.
"Look and learn," the J-Man says. He leaves the room and comes back hefting a huge suitcase.
"My, that's a big one," Lola says, borrowing a line from a Dirty Harry movie.
"Yes, I know that," the J-Man says. "But let's just concentrate on the suitcase. For now..."
His gaze wanders to Fran's damp cleavage, and then to Angie's damp cleavage and some crazy thoughts run through his mind. He clocks Lola's somewhat lengthy legs and just wishes she'd been blessed with breasts.
And that she was bent over...
He snaps out of it. He's a righteous man, not one of the righteous men who sang 'Unchained Melody' but a righteous man all the same.
He opens the case.
Revealing a stunning array of firearms.
"Abel Zorro, amigo," he says. "As you were brave enough to fight these inbred mutant hoody zombie abominations with nothing but a sword, please have the first choice. Help yourself."
"I'll take the foldaway AK47 J-Man," Abel says. "If that's all right with you."
"A wise selection," J-Man says. "There's ammo in the dresser, and plenty of it."
"Is that a nickel plated Colt Python .357 Magnum I see before me?" Nick says.
"You know a lot about firearms for a Limey," J-Man says.
"I'm from Manchester," Nick admits. "We tend to be fairly well acquainted with weaponry. Even though it's technically illegal. Legality and related issues never really bothered us, or our neighbours. Would it be okay for me to take the Python?"
"Be my guest," J-Man says. "Ammo in the dresser as stated previously."
"Do you have a Colt 45 Navy Special automatic secreted in that case?" Buck asks.
"I most certainly do," the J-Man says. "With a sixteen shot clip. A most devastating weapon at any range."
"That will do for me ole buddy," Buck grins. "I can blow some inbred mutant zombie hoody ass to hell and back with that baby."
And so it goes.
Everybody gets tooled up, and after being fed on the J-Man's tacos, they're just about ready for anything.
"I need to save the dog," Fran says, fingering the Glock she selected. "The dog known as 'Bear' It's just not right that inbred mutant hoody zombies should own a cute golden retriever named 'Bear' who does charitable works in his spare time.
In a time saving plot device, which will probably fool nobody, the author whisks our party into the camper, and down the road to a sinister looking farmhouse. A large farmhouse, where the lambs are silent, and the cotton is high.
"What happened?" Lola asks. She cradles her head. She appears to be in pain.
"Don't worry about it kid," Buck says. "It's just the idiot author who's directing this shit. He sometimes loses his way but I'm sure he means well."
"He's a jerk-off, whoever he is," Todd says. He hasn't forgiven the dumb assed writer yet for having his girlfriend, Angie, do the horizontal mambo with Buck.
"Hey, dude, just chill out." Abel Zorro says. "We're being guided here by the hand of a more than likely intoxicated writer. And we all know what assholes writers can be. Just roll with it."
"Okay," Todd says. "But if you were writing this shit, would it have transpired the same way?"
"Definitely not," Buck interjects. "Abel has talent. The asshole writing this is just a stone cold loser."
"That's a big farmhouse," Fran says, as they approach, curiously enough, the big farmhouse.
"Get your weapons locked and loaded people," Buck says. "We could be walking into a shitstorm here."
"Let's just do it amigo," Abel Zorro says, twirling his trusty sword for reinforcement.
"What's going on here?" A Yorkshire accented voice demands. "What are you up to?"
A flashlight bursts into, like, light.
The beam streaks through the rain.
"Who are you people and what do you want here?" the Yorkshire accented voice demands. "I'll have no truck with interlopers."
"Fuck me..." Buck gasps.
"What is it?" Abel Zorro enquires.
"I'd swear blind that that's Monkey Woods," Buck says.
"Ask him," J-Man suggests.
"Hey, you there!" Buck shouts.
"Who? Me" The Yorkshire accented voice responds.
"Yeah! You! The dude with the flashlight!"
"What do you want? And don't for God's sake say a game of chess. I'm a one trick pony when it comes to chess."
"Are you the legendary Spoof writer and Hull City FC supporter Monkey Woods? Once of Dudley in the West Midlands, currently of Pattaya Beach in Thailand, and now back in the UK in the pissing rain due to a cunning plot device by a pissed up Manchester United supporting author?"
"What if I am?" comes the response.
"It's us Monkey ol' buddy," Buck says. "It's Buck, and J-Man, and Abel Zorro Rodriguez. Why are your guarding the property of these inbred mutant hoody zombie creeps? What happened to you?"
"Nothing happened to me guys, apart from this deranged writer relocating me in the UK," Monkey says as he steps forward in the pouring rain. "The inbreds paid me to keep an eye on the place. Good to see you guys. I've been kind of missing you all."
"Did you see a dog around here?" Fran chips in. "A golden retriever who goes by the name of 'Bear'?"
"Bear?" Monkey says. "Sure, cute dog, does a lot of work for charity. He's tied up by the front door. Go get him, he's okay, the freaks looked after him because he was so cute."
She's a bit fucking cute too, Monkey thinks, as he casts his eye over Fran. If I wanted to create an internet fantasy character it would look just like her, complete with skimpy, wet, clinging Dior black dress and Jimmy Choo stilettos.
"Monkey Woods? Oh my God I love you!" Madame Bitters cries out as she embraces the Monkey.
"Jesus, that's awful," Buck says.
"Ah leave 'em be," Abel Zorro opines.
"No guys," the J-Man cautions. "We have to be careful here..."
"Why is that?" Todd asks.
"It's because our good friend the Monkey isn't particularly enamoured by cake," the J-Man says.
Abel Zorro takes the bull by the horns.
"Are we gonna go into this charnel house and investigate? Or what?" he says, his voice resounding over the pounding rain.
"Yeah, why not," Monkey says. "I often wondered what those inbred mutant hoody zombies were getting up to in there."
"So let's do it," the J-Man says.
"Fuckin' A " Abel adds.
They go in through the front door.
The writer would like to point out that this pause in the story is likely to last for three or four days due to work commitments, and trains and stuff.
He does however promise to get back on the case as soon as he is able to do so.