View Full Version : The Amp, the Guitar and the Studio

02-20-2013, 03:01 PM
EDIT: This is a contributive story. You are invited to enjoy the story or even add to it. Feel free to add characters and plot twists. Please be careful not to completely derail or end another member's developing story line. Let people have most of the control over characters that they introduce. As a general rule - don't kill off characters you have not introduced, unless of course it is a minor leprechaun someone put in your way. Sergio's head leprechaun will require a team effort to kill. If you have a doubt or suggestion, PM the author handling the character in question at the moment. Make sure you have read the whole story before jumping in. Refer back to posts as an author may have edited his storyline a bit in an important way. Have fun. I'll update the cast of characters as we go along in post #66 - fittingly only one order of magnitude away from 666 and the release of the immortal evil leprechaun in Las Vegas...

Glambin Turkkel stumbled through his studio holding a glass of water. He was looking for the bottle of Advil he remembered seeing somewhere in the amp section earlier in the week. Those late night recording sessions he was doing with the Paul Reed Smith Band were starting to take their toll. It didn't help that the ghost of George Harrison had kept him from really getting any sleep until just about 2 hours ago. Then he was awake again.

Glambin was also a little miffed at Smith. Paul had been complaining about the studio soundproofing again. "I swear that man can hear a mouse fart," he thought to himself not for the first time. The Grainger brothers had known better than to roll their eyes, they knew Paul had the best hearing in the business. Glambin had to agree it was true as well, especially after 'the incident.'

But, he didn't want to think about that now. He only wanted the tiny man in his head banging away on Greg's kit to go away. As he looked between the HX/DA and the Super Dallas, Glambin felt a hot, burning sensation in his left temple. The pain was excruciating. He fell to his knees and was dead before his head hit the floor.

Across town, Bennett put away his Glambin vodoo doll and chuckled to himself. His plans were on track and he could see little to stop him this time.

02-20-2013, 03:06 PM
Let me know when the book gets published.

02-20-2013, 03:14 PM
Over in Perney, Frank Bello was polishing his Custom 24 before packing it away. He had just gotten in from an all night gig at the Irish pub down the street. "Those Irish sure can drink," he thought to himself. Before hitting the sack, he checked his Ebay listing. Nope. No bites on his now never used wall hangers. He needed to pawn them off on someone, he still owed a few bucks on the humidifier he bought the other day.

02-20-2013, 06:43 PM
I'm joining up in a bit on this one. ;)

02-20-2013, 08:07 PM
Let me know when the book gets published.

Strictly speaking, putting it online here constitutes publication.

02-20-2013, 08:19 PM
In New Jersey, Bennett Oppraman was something of a legend. He had dedicated his life to solving the problems of the human mind. But a few years earlier, he had become part of a secret cult. At first, he sought entree to the cult because he'd been scientifically curious. However, the longer he studied them, the closer an affinity he felt for the ideals of the cult and their dabbling in magic.

This was the Cult of the Blue Oyster. And their enduring symbol was the cowbell.

In his cultish alter-ego frame of mind, Bennett was no longer Bennett Oppraman, renowned psychologist. He was a Mr. Hyde who would wreak vengeance and havoc on his enemies. And in his mind, he had many enemies.

Each night, his stereo blasting "Don't Fear The Reaper" out of his six stereo speakers at 120 decibels in his basement laboratory, he would become Ned, the Destroyer by ingesting a drug one of the Oysters had developed using clam juice.

And Ned was not a kindly shrink. Ned was a killer.

02-20-2013, 08:28 PM
Sunday's were always special to Paul Reed Smith. When he was younger it was the day he would start scrambling for materials after having secured a precious guitar order hard won by crashing the backstage of a DC concert on Saturday night. He was keen to impress his customers, much to their delight and much to the detriment of his mother's dresser.

But these days it was special for a different reason. Years of hard work had rewarded him with one of the most unique and successful guitar companies in the world. He loved playing himself and the Paul Reed Smith Band was starting to get noticed. But the sessions at the Turkkel studios had hit some snags. Glambin had an AC feedback loop somewhere and the almost inaudible 60Hz buzz was distracting Paul. Glambin was a good egg and Paul had resolved to help find the problem.

Paul looked down at his guitar. The company was marketing it as 'Paul's Guitar', and that made the usually gregarious Smith a little self-conscious. It was true that it had all the latest innovations on it and the brush stroke birds were finally starting to appeal to him, but there was still something missing.

02-20-2013, 08:34 PM
What Paul couldn't let on was something he'd overheard in the break room, and inside he seethed.

The general impression was that he was the Paul in Paul's Guitar - after all, it was his company, his name on the headstock. He was known for his never-ending quest for tone, and for his ears. The same ears that could hear a finish fading. It made sense. It was logical.

It was wrong.

That very day, he'd heard some of his employees - people he thought of as "loyal employees" - reveal that Paul's Guitar was, in fact, not named for him, but for the bandmate of one of his longtime endorsers.

Paul's Guitar was really...Paul Rodgers' Guitar. And Rodgers wasn't even a guitarist!

02-20-2013, 09:28 PM
In his own studio, Ell Chefman thought he smelled something, but he wasn't sure. Once a young and vibrant composer and producer, Ell was now getting on in years.

"Maybe I need to have my diaper changed," he thought. "It's so humiliating. I really don't understand why suddenly I'd need one."

He rang for his day nurse.

Back in New Jersey, the moment Ell rang the bell for his day nurse, a certain cowbell rang in Oppraman's office.

"What's that noise?" asked his patient.

"It's nothing," said Oppraman. "I have an alarm clock that sounds like a cowbell." The patient relaxed. But Oppraman's eyes narrowed. He knew Chefman now needed a diaper change and had rung for his nurse. A smile crossed his face. "I put that overbearing suckah in a diaper and a wheel chair," he thought. "Serves him right for giving me a hard time about learning that freaking software."

02-21-2013, 09:13 AM
OK, I see the diaper gag threw you guys off the...um...scent of the story...

Hahaha! ;)

02-21-2013, 09:44 AM
Hands Mantic was winded. Between the Colorado altitude and the frantic search for his wallet along the hiking trail, it was to be expected. Just a week prior, Mike Three had visited again. Mike was a great guy, but had the annoying habit of cutting holes in Hands' pockets. After every visit, Hands found himself searching for his wallet, keys, comb and favorite guitar picks until his wife could sew up all his pockets again. The pockets in this particular pair of cargo shorts must have gotten overlooked. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that Hands had been wearing this same pair for going on a week and a half.

Mantic spied his wallet under a bush by the side of the trail and picking it up, he saw that the jackalopes had beaten him to it. It was gnawed almost beyond recognition save for the plastic photo holder inside with the pic of his Raven. Hands stuffed the wallet back into his pocket where, two strides later, it fell out again, this time never to be found again.

02-21-2013, 10:09 AM
Paul's Guitar. Paul's Guitar. It rolled over and over in his head. He had to get to the bottom of it. It was a rumour of course, and completely baseless, but it was gaining traction. Though it was Sunday, Paul made the short trip to the factory bearing his name. He let himself in one of the back doors near the loading dock and stood in the cavernous space recently occupied by vendors and ravenous Experience attendees. He had a logical mind and just standing in the space, he though about how this naming thing could have gotten to where it was.

Paul strode off across the floor past the CNC machines and into the business area. He turned right and went down the hall towards the promotions department. He remembered a memo from the sales department that he had dismissed at the time. Something about a 'mole' in the staff. At the time he had chocked it up to another prank by Mike Deeley. Now he was sure it was a valid and dire warning.

In the promotions area he sifted through the ad slicks until he came across the mockups for Paul's Guitar. There were various shots of the guitar, most of them suitable for framing, but some of them candid. There. He saw it. On one of the shots taken in the factory, he saw the unmistakable hand of Paul Rodgers with its "B A D C O" tattoo across the knuckles from thumb to pinkie. Next to it he saw the new hire in the promo department grinning.

Paul took the photo to his office computer and started looking. Sure enough, right there on Rodgers' web page was a pic of a roadie. The same face as the new hire.

Paul was off like a shot back to the wood shop. He selected several pieces of wormy mahogany he was saving for the Official Forum Guitar and walked towards the huge band saw. "Those forum guys are OK, if I make them a special run, I won't pawn off this crap wood on them after all," he thought to himself. Besides, he had new plans for the wood and much to do. With the factory closed for Sunday, he had the place to himself. It was quite a bit different from his parents' garage long ago, but as soon as the big band saw started eating wood, he was rushed back in memories.

02-21-2013, 11:34 AM
What the heck does all this mean?

02-21-2013, 11:45 AM
What the heck does all this mean?

Dirty Bob
02-21-2013, 11:48 AM

02-21-2013, 12:48 PM
Paul quickly let go of the whole thing about his namesake guitar. After all, he had work to do!

Here is was, working his tail off in the countryside of South America, pulling out old Chocolabuccococcus fence posts for neck blanks, and was all this hard work and effort even appreciated?

He'd gotten nothing but complaints from Oppraman and Woodfan about his choice of nomenclature the last time with the Stinker necks, and here it was, starting all over again.

"Enough with these lunatics," he said to himself. "I'm going to call the guys at Fender and take their offer."

02-21-2013, 01:50 PM
I suppose that there is no where to go after that.

02-21-2013, 03:56 PM
I suppose that there is no where to go after that.

We could talk the diaper curse Bennett laid on me...;)

02-21-2013, 06:14 PM
We could talk the diaper curse Bennett laid on me...;)

Bite me

02-21-2013, 08:44 PM
Bite me


Albrecht Smuten
02-22-2013, 02:51 AM

You are 800 years old, right?


02-23-2013, 12:01 AM
Paul closed his office door and picked up the phone. "Leo, I think we've got a deal."

The voice on the other end of the line just sighed. "Paul, we've been through this before, but let's do it again. Leo is dead. Even before then, he left the company. We're Fender Musical Instruments Company now. You wouldn't call Gibson and ask to talk to Orville, would you?"

"I talked to Orville just last week!" Paul shouted. Then he muttered, "Well, I thought it was Orville. It sounded like him, but the room was kind of smoky. Anyway, that's not why I called. I've decided to take you up on your offer, if it still stands."

The voice on the other end paused. "You're aware of what this means, right? And there's no going back - so you'd better be sure."

Paul said, "I am. Let's do it. But just to be sure we're clear - the deal is Zach Meyers and Orianthi for John 5 and Eric Johnson, right?"

The voice said, "Are you sure I can't get you to throw in Davy Knowles for Yngwie Malmsteen?"

Paul said, "Positive - the way Davy talks makes my ears tingle. He insists it's just an accent, but I still think he's a leprechaun."

02-23-2013, 12:20 AM
... and with that last muttering of the unholy word "Leprechaun", the exact 666th time he had said the word, a crack in the plate tectonics under Luxor casino in Las Vegas appeared directly under the high-stakes crap table.

The entire strip felt the aftershock, two gentlemen in the "All-Nite" korean nail salon shared an alarmed glance, "Could this really be happening?" The look of panic on the gentleman named Sergio; who was getting an as-masculine-as-possible-french-tipped silver and gold pedicure with sparkles, alarmed Rango; who had opted for a classic clear-coat, of the unthinkable...... The Leprechaun hath returned!!!!!

]-[ @ n $ 0 |v| a T ! ©
02-23-2013, 12:28 AM
Sergio, my man? You are solid gold.

02-23-2013, 04:58 AM
Inside the "All Nite" nail salon there was panic, a panic that when mixed with the smell of acetone exuded a fragrance of hysteria. The lead nail technician who went by the american name of Linda remarked: "Om my gord! The regend of Red Romen is True!!! we all goring to die!!" Linda was not asian mind you, just terribly racist,. she was in fact a polish girl who thought that some eyeliner and a horrible accent would lead her to the top of her profession as a nail technician. She was sorely mistaken and would die a death befit of a racist stereotype by early next chapter, so don't get all upset yet.

Sergio, after feeling the aftershock, immediately tried to end his pedicure and see what was happening outside, "Hey misteer! You end pedicure, you no get Groupon disscount!" Linda yelled.

"Lady! There's a freakin' Red-haired leprechaun molesting a grey furry-covered Fender M-80 half-stack on the top of Circus-Circus!" Sergio yelled, "You think I care about a Groupon?!"

The termination of Rango's Groupon discount shook him to the core. Across the room a low, soulful wail passed across Rango's lips: "Mwah... Groupon?!!... No Good!?!" It had the timbre of a thousand children who had dropped their ice cream cone on a summer day and the aroma of fresh heartbreak, Rango was destroyed on the inside.

"You realize Sergio.... I had to lie to the wife and tell her that I was going to the strip-club, she only let me leave the house with a twenty dollar bill out of fear that I might put a down payment on a "Paul's Guitar"! Ain't no way I'm getting jacked over not leavin' a tip for this crazy Linda chick! Sit your a$$ down, we gettin' this here Groupon!!!" Rango said.

"But the freakin' Leprechaun is back!!" Sergio says: " I told you we should've got Lee press ons!!"

Just then the speaker cable from the molested M-80 amp flies through the front window barley scuffing Rango's freshly buffed pedicure; "Im a peaceful man" Rango exclaims; " But ain't no troll goin' to mess up ma toes!"

Linda, who was by now laying in a front window sill directly under an extremely unstable pointed glass shard with a cheesy 1980's Patrick Nagel inspired cling-on decal said: "There is onry one ting dat can kill the reprechaun...... sigh.... you must find the. (choke)...one.... the one guitar,,,, that can.(cough).. stop... him...

Immediately following her unexplained knowledge of what it will require to send the evil leprechaun back to his lair, the "All Nite" nail salon suffers another aftershock that releases the Nagel-Bomb unto her neckline....... What? It's a somewhat just end to her, she was a total jerk.

02-23-2013, 08:03 AM
Alan and Sergio: Genius, this stuff is great!

02-23-2013, 08:46 AM
My name has been spoken....in vain. Were you guys wearing yarmulkes when spouting my name?

The cult of the Oyster has been aroused. Who is this Opraman that you speak of??? Beware, the wrath of Ned the Destroyer!!!!

This is how I woke up this morning, before I found this thread....

http://s3.amazonaws.com/rapgenius/urkel-716414.jpg (http://www.google.com/url?sa=i&source=images&cd=&cad=rja&docid=YTla1IuwpIAV3M&tbnid=FngHlTjFEB44NM:&ved=0CAgQjRwwAA&url=http%3A%2F%2Frapgenius.com%2F886176%2FDanger-doom-korn-dogz%2FA-nerd-with-insight-and-a-urkel-smirk&ei=X9YoUcndBa290QGVwIDwBg&psig=AFQjCNGdLkTnqE12B8JQ3I-8vE-NIDsIXA&ust=1361717215128400)

This is me, on the right, after the transformation...

http://userserve-ak.last.fm/serve/252/51996313.png (http://www.google.com/url?sa=i&source=images&cd=&cad=rja&docid=vB9YG6BcE3ZWLM&tbnid=tryfaOFsx00O9M:&ved=0CAgQjRwwAA&url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.last.fm%2Fmusic%2FBlue%2B%25C 3%2596yster%2BCult&ei=99UoUdiYMZK40QG3uIH4CA&psig=AFQjCNE8prUfZIBpFgRJtMCWWuWP58S92g&ust=1361717111849857)


http://blogs.browardpalmbeach.com/countygrind/blue_oyster_cult_logo4.jpg (http://www.google.com/url?sa=i&source=images&cd=&cad=rja&docid=VgtXKY1Bl4sa6M&tbnid=UiIRg5G5CizZNM:&ved=0CAgQjRwwAA&url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.t411.me%2Ftorrents%2Fblue-oyster-cult-4-albums-1972-1976-mp3-320kbs&ei=J9YoUf1i64DQAd6XgOAF&psig=AFQjCNHNoFNNvxu6ZxjA_J1AaX--j8v2sg&ust=1361717159053470)

02-23-2013, 10:00 AM
Look, um, Ned, Nedster, here's the deal:

1. Being a character is a sign of affection from your fellow forum members. Few people are accorded this privilege.

2. Opraman is a name that comes from a Saturday Night Live character that bears a resemblance to your name.

2. Even if there were supernatural beings, you ain't one of them, so simmer down, no yarmulke is needed. ;)

It's a story, names are needed and they make the whole thing more fun. Accept the honor graciously and STFU. Or better yet, participate.

Incidentally, I don't really wear a diaper. Yet. See, it's a fun story and I can make fun of myself.

02-23-2013, 10:16 AM
Look, um, Ned, Nedster, here's the deal:

1. Being a character is a sign of affection from your fellow forum members. Few people are accorded this privilege.

2. Opraman is a name that comes from a Saturday Night Live character that bears a resemblance to your name.

2. Even if there were supernatural beings, you ain't one of them, so simmer down, no yarmulke is needed. ;)

It's a story, names are needed and they make the whole thing more fun. Accept the honor graciously and STFU. Or better yet, participate.

Incidentally, I don't really wear a diaper. Yet. See, it's a fun story and I can make fun of myself.

You don't think my initial image pre-transformation was not making fun of myself???????? Thanks.....I think.

BTW....I am super....and I am natural. You put it together! :p

02-23-2013, 10:30 AM
BTW....I am super....and I am natural. You put it together! :p

I'm sorry, but you have to pay 5 pounds for another argument.

02-23-2013, 10:39 AM
I'm sorry, but you have to pay 5 pounds for another argument.

No I don't.

02-23-2013, 10:53 AM
No I don't.

Well, think of my professional reputation. I can't go on giving away arguments. I'm very sorry.

Dirty Bob
02-23-2013, 12:02 PM
I swear I think I check in hear half the time to see what the heck you two are debating or arguing about each day! :dancing:



02-23-2013, 12:42 PM
I swear I think I check in hear half the time to see what the heck you two are debating or arguing about each day! :dancing:



No you don't.

02-23-2013, 01:40 PM
The news of the return of "Red Omen" as one CNN reporter called him, and was thus blindly repeated by every other lazy journalist who merely fact-check their stories by watching CNN, spread across the globe like a rash you you get from using the showers at a YMCA.

The cowbell in Oppraman's office was ringing in violent short bursts, it would have alarmed him if he was within ear shot of the cowbell alarm, but instead Bennet sat in the screened-in porch of his New Jersey home smoking "Halflings' Leaf" and listening to BOC at extreme volume. After twenty minutes of spastically half-moshing to "Reaper" Oppraman left the porch to go to the kitchen for a post smoke snack of matzo and gefilte fish.

Upon passing his office he noticed the cowbell alarm now looked like a crushed DR. Pepper can; "What the?" said Bennet, "I guess ol' Ell either had indian food last night or something must be terribly wrong!" He decided to skip the matzo and give him a call.

"Squirt" answered Ell

"Squirt? What the heck do you mean by that Ell? Here I am calling to see if you're feeling alright and you immediately insult me!?" said Bennet.

"Squirt!" Ell replied, "Squirt.. Leprechaun.. Ginger... Vegas... hamburger!"

Bennet was fuming,; " Now wait just a second you old pants wetter! You can call me anything you want, but if you talk that way about my wife I will DESTROY YOU!!"

"No, Doc. The leprechaun hath returned!"

"Who the hell uses the word hath Ell!? I may have been smoking some "Halflings' Leaf" but I'm pretty sure you're the only dude left alive from the 16th century that knows what that means!" said Oppraman.

"No, I mean the leprechaun is back Ned! we gotta....... wait a second, are you telling me you have a Phd and you don't know how to use the word hath? what kind of education did you get? Did your diploma come from the bottom of the Cracker Jack that all the kids are soo into nowadays? I can't believe you don't know what hath means!"

"Of course I do! I'm not stupid, and at least I have the ability to get up and use the toilet. I don't sit in my mess all day like you!" said Bennet.

"No I don't" replied Ell

"Yes you do!" said Bennet

"No, you do!"

"No! You DO!"

"No I don't."

"Yes you do."

"Yes.. YOU DO!"

"Oh, okay.. I do!" Bennet replied sarcastically.

"Ha! See! I told you you do!" Ell quipped.

"I was being Sarcastic, you.. you.. Arrgh!" Exhausted, Bennet hung up the phone.

02-23-2013, 02:03 PM
Doc Bill sat musing in his new basement studio. The only illumination was the soft glow from the neon and the computer screens in front of him. The urgent text from Sergio had unnerved him. Bill thought about his spat with Ell Chefman and realized it paled in comparison with Sergio's warning.

Chefman was still reeling from his nightmare. He knew that some day he actually would need diapers, but he was thankful that time had not yet come. His phone rang.


"Ruger? I thought you were pissed at me..."

"I was. You drowned my goldfish. That kind of thing just isn't an accident."

"That was years ago, and I apologized."

"It probably didn't help that you were eating him as you did so."

"But I was really hungry after arguing with Bennett," mumbled the aging studio owner. He had just taken a large bite from an angelfish sandwich.

"Well, never mind that now. Put your ongoing feud with Bennett on the back burner. We have more important things to worry about."

Doc Bill filled Chefman in on the contents of Sergio's panic text.

"Oh God! Not the Leprechauns!" wailed Chefman. "That's what Bennett just told me. I thought he was just yanking my chain. We have to get busy. Bennett can wait." Bits of angelfish, toast and lettuce spewed across the room as he spoke.

"Agreed," said Bill.

They were at once both right and both very wrong.

02-23-2013, 02:26 PM
Paul hung up the phone. The pukes at Fender bought his story. He knew that Orianthi and Meyers would never agree to the 'deal' he made and he would still end up with Eric Johnson anyway. What Fender didn't know was about the impending desertion of another of their prized artists.

Well, 'impending' wasn't exactly right. Once Smith had gotten Gilmour to actually play the special prototype with the trio of tapped narrow 408s, it had been easy to finally bring the rock legend into the PRS fold.

The text he had gotten from Doc Bill Ruger proved that his timing could not have been better. With Davy Knowles able to slip behind the lines disguised as a leprechaun and with Gilmour's years of experience killing them, PRS was putting everything in place for the coming Pot-O-Goldtop wars. Two important aspects of war were already in place - inside information and proven killing power.

Paul returned to the wood shop and suddenly realized that the flap over 'Paul's Guitar' might be connected. With the shop still to himself, he put the finishing touches on the intricately shaped wormy mahogany in front of him.

He heard a mouse fart somewhere upstairs in the large factory. "I gotta put more traps in the wood library," he thought to himself.

02-23-2013, 02:39 PM
Chefman, too, was a "doc" of course; a doctor of LAWS. ;) Which didn't do him or anyone else any good right now, as the Leprechaun didn't follow any laws. This was an emergency. His first thought was to consider whether the legend of the Leprechaun being vulnerable only to the One Guitar was true.

He had a feeling it was going have to be something special. Maybe something unexpected. Maybe something...undiscovered...or hidden away by providence, only revealed at the magic moment...

"Hang on a sec," he thought. "I know of a guitar that is truly one of a kind, once cast off, only to be rediscovered in a heap of messy parts and brought back to life again...is there a chance it could be The One?"

He got on the phone and started dialing the number of Le Casanova.

02-23-2013, 02:46 PM
Meanwhile, in Vegas, Red Romen - after pausing to extoll the virtues of smaller heeled shoes to an impressed "lady of the evening" who refused not only his advice but any and all offers of any financial compensation for an act she wouldn't perform with, as she put it, "Henry's ex-girlfriend's naughty bits" - dejectedly trudged onward to the secret meeting place. He slid down the alley, checking both ways to make sure he wasn't followed. He passed under a dumpster, reaching up to touch the bottom for luck in a superstitious gesture as ridiculous as it was impossible.

Carefully counting the bricks from the corner of the dumpster, he found the false front and slid the panel back, revealing the secure entry pad. He slowly punched in the code he had memorized, a process that would have been much quicker if not for his running commentary. "Five...thirteen...really, just a desperate attempt to attract attention...four...oh...eight...yeah, like four oh nine wouldn't have been a cleaner idea...three...oh...five...like that's not a complete ripoff..."

The entrance to the secret lair slid open. A voice, dripping with nearly lethal amounts of sarcasm, drifted out of the darkness. "So, Red Not Ramen Noodles, are you ready to proceed with our evil plan?"

Red Romen just rolled his eyes dismissively. "Are you finally going to follow my instructions? Not just veer off on your own twisted path?"

"As you wish, Red Not Ramen Noodles."

"Very good, let's proceed...Ratchet."

In Connecticut, a spine chilled.

02-23-2013, 02:56 PM
Bennett Oppraman was pissed. That old coot Chefman had bested him verbally. Again. He had installed the backup cowbell alarm to replace the crushed one, but the alarm log was corrupted so he had no idea what had literally rung the previous bell to death.

"Death," he thought to himself. "I'll show 'em death."

At his workbench Bennett carefully inserted the strand of hair into the finished voodoo doll. He had gotten the hair as a ruse he had pulled on Nutzall. Earlier that year, Shawn had visited the famous Abbey Road studios. Bennett had made an unusual request of the head of the PRS Special Forces Unit.

At the time, Shawn had thought Bennett's request for some hair from the control room of the studios weird but harmless and Shawn had overnighted a small box of various hairs he had found.

It was one of these hairs that Bennett carefully slid into a voodoo doll now. He closed the side with some superglue and then with an evil grin, picked up a 12 inch knitting needle.

In Abby Road studio 3 as David Gilmour was laying down an amazing solo for his latest track, the studio engineer clutched his chest painfully and died.

02-23-2013, 03:03 PM
Gilmour saw the man slump over through the control room glass, and for a few moments thought it was a great gag pulled by the engineer to express his admiration over the solo. He laughed approvingly and gave him a "thumbs up."

But the engineer's head had landed on the talkback button on the console, and he heard a faint voice simply say, "Help me," into his headphones, and then the talkback went dead. Something was very wrong. He unplugged his cable and ran up the stairs, into the control room.

By this time, the engineer lay on the floor, his contorted face as gray as slush in Chicago after a winter storm.

But the man was in a very odd position; he lay on his side, yet his arms were positioned in nearly a circle, in what he thought was almost a deliberate "O" shape. He said to the assistant engineer cowering in the back of the room, "Quickly, call a medic and then call Scotland Yard. Tell the Yard that I told you to call. Ask for Inspector Sky Fall. And when you get him, just say, 'Find The One.' Got that?"

The young man nodded, his face in disbelief.

Repeat what I told you to tell Sky Fall?

"Find The One," said the assistant.

"Good," Gilmour said. "I'm going to get moving. Remember what I told you."

And then he grabbed his iPhone, took a picture of the body, and texted a number. Anxiously, the younger man picked up the studio phone and started dialing as he was told.

Gilmour left through a side entrance to the building, and walked briskly to the silver 1972 Aston Martin Vantage he'd bought with the first of his "Dark Side of the Moon" royalties. The engine purred to life smoothly as he turned the key. The red leather interior was nicely broken in by years of use, but not worn out. The car was his baby. As he pulled away from Abbey Road, the familiar feel of the straight-six engine, and he felt good that he'd gotten one of the 71 made, with the old DB6 engine and wire wheels every time he drove it. But he did not consider himself a collector of cars. ;)

02-23-2013, 03:04 PM
The scene back at the "All Nite" korean nail salon couldn't get much worse, or so Rango thought; "Sergio what're you doing? why do you keep looking at you phone? Linda has been spurting blood out of her neck for fifteen minutes! Are you calling 911?"

"Nah'" replied Sergio "I texted Doc Bill about the leprechaun and he sent me some risque "art" photos of naked women using PRS guitars to cover their good bits. I'm sorry, but sometimes when bad things happen I can only calm down by looking at sexy women or guitars, Doc Bill has saved me a lot of time by combining them for me."

"Really? let me take a look at those." Just as Rango had said it, the two men heard a clip-clopping sound drawing nearer, and nearer, and yet still nearer, and then even more near, until...

The beast stepped through the window, shards of broken and bloodied glass stuck to the soles of his heeled snakeskin cowboy boots. Sergio spent what seemed like an eternity fixated on those boots, they were like nothing else he had ever seen; obviously homemade and covered in old snakeskin tolex from an eighties Soldano SLO, they had heels fashioned from post '94 PRS 22 fret guitar necks, vintage flea market Nuge belt buckles had been hot glued to them, and they looked as though someone had buried them in the ground for a few years, no doubt as a reaction to their visual hideousness and strange fishy smell.

"Snap out of it Serg!" Rango yelled, "We gotta get out of here, NOW!"

Before the two men could leave the leprechaun pulled out a lasso made from his own red-headed knee-length hair and lassoed Rango's foot. He went down hard, smacking his head on the corner of a salon chair and immediately blacked out.

02-23-2013, 03:07 PM
"Damn it," Gilmour screamed, "I hated that talking over the track crap when Waters did it, and he was technically my bandmate. Granted, sometimes I think he was in a different band than the one I was in, but that's beside the point right now. So what makes you think you, a bloody engineer, can just insert a 'Help me' into MY track and think it's going to be okay? On top of that, you did it into the talkbalk mic, so it didn't even get rec..." Gilmour stopped.

The control room was empty.

A mouse farted, but Gilmour missed that.

02-23-2013, 03:22 PM
The Leprechaun was plotting his next move...


But, meanwhile, Bennett called Buck Dharma, whom he knew would enter the story as a subplot and somehow be figured into the arc...someway....somewhere....


While this was going on, a great Dave Gilmore solo was playing in the background...


Having posted little or nothing to do with the current story line, Bennett slunk into the corner, convinced that Opraman was another sign of age....he last saw Saturday Night Live when Sam Kinnison was guest hosting and John Belushi was pitching "Little Frosted Donuts".

02-23-2013, 03:33 PM
Author to Author note:

Hey Alan, we have a story conflict going! I think we cross-posted while I was still editing.

02-23-2013, 03:42 PM
But he did not consider himself a collector of cars. ;)

"Nick Mason has one of the world's premium car collections", Gilmore whispered to no one in particular, not realizing how jealous he was, as he continued to drive off.

]-[ @ n $ 0 |v| a T ! ©
02-23-2013, 03:51 PM
Bite me

So Les reared back on his haunches. His mouth stretched back toward his long tufted ears. It was an evil grin -- bearing a fresh set of fresh white razors -- claws raised high -- each pointing down -- hanging from his paws like black icicles.. It was a hungry winter and there was nothing boney to dull his grin. Bill's nostrils flavored exposing every gray strand. "You wouldn't dare" he snarled. But this pleased Les more than a Jersey shrink dressed as a meat-Popsicle. "A Chocolatecoco fence post would complete your look, Oppraman" be chuckled to himself. "As a matter of fact, Bill" Les replied as he snapped back to the moment "I would!"

Les' ears pulled back and his brow tightened. His eyes opened wide. He was wild at the prospect of a bloody battle. But Bill knew something Les did not. He had a nickel .45 with pearl grips in his waist. But just when things were about to get good, in walked the Leprechaun.

02-23-2013, 03:55 PM
The control room was empty.

A mouse farted, but Gilmour missed that.

Gilmour terminated the video feed from the studio control room into his dash display as he sped along in his Vantage...

02-23-2013, 03:58 PM
A New Jersey Shrink dressed as a meat-Popsicle. Thanks for that. A phrase I will never forget for the rest of my life.

When we were young, fooling kids we would make up our own "Mad-Libs" for fun....we were nerds. Anyway....somehow, the noun, verb, adverb and celebrity character turned out to read: "The Bloody Washcloth of Porky Pig". Two phrases I am doomed to remember for the rest of my life.

Back to the story.....

02-23-2013, 04:06 PM
Doc Bill slid the pearl .45 from his waistband and put two straight through the brain pan of the Leprechaun. His dog Les, named after Ell Chefman, had been trying to warn him all along, not bite him. "I simply have to get that dog's teeth fixed," he thought to himself as he went through the pockets of the Leprechaun.

Pulling out a mix tape with the words "more cowbell" scrawled almost unreadably on one side, Doc Bill Ruger picked up the phone and dialed Hands Mantic.

"Hands, I repaired your pimp gun and was about to go to the range to test it when I had to drill a Leprechaun."

"Holy Goldtop! The Leprechauns are back?" Hands said instinctively reaching for his wallet.

"Yes, they are. Call Mike Three."

02-23-2013, 05:30 PM
Bennett grinned an evil grin.

Chefman managed to just make it to the bathroom.

Doc Ruger stared at the neon Ravens sign.

The dog Les was asleep under the Roland drum kit.

Hands Mantic searched for his wallet.

Mike Three sharpened his scissors.

Rango lay passed out on the nail salon floor.

Sergio stared into the red bloodshot eyes of the Leprechaun.

The Leprechaun stared back.

Linda died.

Gilmour drove.

Davy Knowles rolled over and kissed Autumn Sky awake.

A mouse farted.

Paul Reed Smith heard it.

02-23-2013, 05:51 PM
As he raced along on the way to Heathrow, Gilmour heard his iPhone ring. "Gilmour," he said. The phone's display did not register a number, but Gilmour knew who the call was from. "Yes, M," he said, that text with the picture was sent to you within seconds of the man's death. No, I am not certain what the "O" shape means, but I have a suspicion I'm going to fly to the US to check on.. Yes sir, thank you. I'll report in once I have a better idea."

Gilmour took the leather gig bag with his new PRS from the cubby behind his seat, and grabbed a small Tumi suitcase. He slung the guitar over his shoulder, locked up the car, and walked into the airport. As far as onlookers were concerned, he was just another rock star. But he was in actuality 009 of Her Majesty's Secret Service, MI6.

And with his guitar in hand, he was licensed to thrill.

02-23-2013, 06:17 PM
The mouse farted again.
"That damned mouse!" Paul muttered to himself. Pauls hearing was the stuff of legend, but this was a legend built on fact, not myth. From the tiny whisper of the mouse's guff Paul could detect exactly what breed - In this case a house mouse (Mus musculus). A small rodent, a mouse, one of the most numerous species of the genus Mus. he knew it's size to within a fraction of an inch and he could calculate from the reverbarations exactly which direction it was facing.
"South East. I've got you in my sights!" He whispered as he crept towards where he believed the mouse to be hiding.

As he got closer he suddenly realised something wasn't quite right. There was another sound accompanying the mouse fart. Clearly human.
"Come out now!" He growled. From behind a crate of neck blanks appeared the girl with the Dragon Guitar. Paul eased as he realised the girl was no threat.
"I'm sorry Paul. I know what's going on and trust me... You're gonna need me. By the way, can you sign the scratch plate?" "Sure." Paul said as he fished out a gold Sharpie.


Sergio was now face to face with the Leprechaun. Just minutes before he'd been thinking about his career. Few people knew he was also a prize winning author of high brow erotica. His previous trilogy of books (Which he wrote under a pen name) had gone straight to the top of the book charts. 'Fifty Shades Of Blanc' had sold by the millions and was on the verge of being made into a Hollywood film. It was an erotic story based on love, sex, desire and re-building and re-finishing a PRS guitar the lead character had recently aquired.

His latest series had run into some problems though. A mix up at the printers meant the latest novel had been titled Fifty Shades Of Chaltecoco Pernambuco. This had caused merry hell and had forced PRS Books to issue a press release setting the story straight. Thankfully that little issue had been resolved but he could have done without it.

Now he had other issues. He was face to face with the Leprechaun.
"I'm here for the lucky charms" it said menacingly....

02-23-2013, 06:19 PM
After signing the girl with the Dragon guitar's scratchplate Paul placed a call To Gilmour.
"We're going to need 0010 as well. Call the Knopfler!!!" With that Gilmour placed the call.

02-23-2013, 07:39 PM
Author to Author note:

Hey Alan, we have a story conflict going! I think we cross-posted while I was still editing.

No worries - we'll just explain it away with a trite parallel universes joining motif!

02-23-2013, 07:48 PM
Knopfler listened as Gilmour explained what was going on. "Hmmm...." He pondered for a moment and said, "Sound like you're in dire straits, mate."

Gilmour held the phone at arms' length as he shouted into the phone, "DAMN IT, 0010 - THAT #@% WASN'T #$#@ING FUNNY THE FIRST MOTHER#$&*(@@ 6397 TIMES YOU #$@(% WELL SAID IT!!!!" Gilmour paused and realized he had just done what no secret agent should ever do - he'd drawn attention to himself. Luckily, he was in a Starbucks filled with the self-absorbed, so the only person who noticed was a diminutive pink-haired lass who whispered, "My boyfriend can probably fix your problem." Gilmour just shook his head and pulled the phone back to his ear. He said, "I need your help, 0010 - I wish you were here." The pink-haired lass could hear the muffled sounds of outrage through the phone - she made a mental note to ask Paul about it later, figuring he'd probably heard it. Her thoughts were interrupted by Gilmour speaking into the phone, "Yeah, not so funny on that end, now, is it?"

02-23-2013, 07:49 PM
No worries - we'll just explain it away with a trite parallel universes joining motif!

Way to think, there, bro. Way to think!

02-23-2013, 08:01 PM
Way to think, there, bro. Way to think!

My long-lost evil twin taught me that!

02-23-2013, 08:33 PM
Ell Chefman got off the Russian helicopter that had ferried him from the airport at Vilnius, Lithuania to Lida, in Belarus, formerly Soviet territory. The helicopter ride had been a bit uncomfortable, but he was now where he needed to be to complete his research. Chefman remembered something he'd personally experienced, but had to return to the original documents to understand fully what had happened and why. And to find an answer.

Lida had been the scene of countless invasions for hundreds of years, where communities had grown and in turn been destroyed by wars, by Teutons, Poles. Russians, Tatars, Lithuanians, Princes, Dictators, and Khans. As such it was a treasure trove of European history. And it had secrets. One of them was the involvement of Belarus in the disposition of French Army POWs taken during Napoleon's Invasion in the War of 1812.

You see, in Lida's library were the Archives of Belarus. Chefman knew that the archives included "Lists of the French army POWs of medical ranks left with the wounded in the military hospital in Minsk, 12 January - 22 November 1813" as well as "List of the French POWs who died in the Minsk hospital. 8 April - 15 June 1813."

Chefman spoke with the library's director, and asked to see the manuscripts. As a lawyer, and a person who'd lectured at the University of Michigan, he was accorded access to them, accompanied by a library employee. As he sat with white cotton gloves on, so as not to damage the delicate paper leafing through the 200 year old contents with a magnifying glass, he found what he wanted.

His own name - or shall we say, a pseudonym he'd used while serving in the French Army as a Medical Officer - was on the first list of Medical Officer POWs. Searching the second list, of French officers who'd died in the hospital during this period, he saw his own from his faked death, but that was not what he was looking for.

He wanted to find something else, the name of the man who'd told him of a secret cache buried beneath the old 14th Century fortress of Lida Castle. He needed the man's name, and hoped for burial information, because he knew that his comrade of those days had been buried with a map inscribed on a gold coin he'd made Chefman place in his trousers before his death. Typically, the Russian captors had stolen the French boots, coats, and hats, primarily for their buttons and decorations, and the men were buried in their trousers and shirt. The coin had been cleverly hidden.

Chefman knew that all that would be left of this burial would be the skeleton and the coin, which being gold, would not decompose or deteriorate. Maybe there'd be a few buttons and fragments of leather. But how many other skeletons might be in the pit, on top, in other layers? It would, he knew, be like finding a needle in a haystack. And it would be on the outskirts of Minsk, where so many battles had taken place in 200 years.

But if he could find the burial, he could find the map. And the hidden secret he, and the world, now badly needed.

After several hours with the manuscripts, he believed that he understood the burial locations of several of the men, including his friend. He might get lucky. But he needed help. It was a bit vague, and the appearance of the area had changed radically in places over 200 years and several wars. But he had enough information for a good guess as to the location, if he could recognize the topography. He had been in many armies; he was very good with a map.

An awful lot of prisoner and civilian killing had taken place between 1180, when the area was first settled, and 1945, when WWII had finally ended. There would be much to sort through. There could be layers of mass graves.

He walked from the library to a nearby bookstore; in the Belorusian he dredged up from his now-200 year old memories. he called to someone behind the counter and asked, "У вас ёсць карта горада?". He was handed a map, and gave the woman at the counter a few rubles. He looked up and noticed that the woman appeared to be nearly fifty, but quite beautiful. He was taken aback, very impressed.

"Why do you want this?" she asked in English.

"Oh," he said, still somewhat startled by her appearance and fluency in English. "I'm a tourist."

"You don't appear to be much of a tourist," she said, "without a camera, or luggage except that instrument bag and a small backpack."

"Clean underwear and socks, a guitar, a pair of jeans, and a toothbrush," he replied with that grin that only Americans have. "I won't be here that long. I'm doing some camping."

"It's not that warm yet," said the woman. "Camping with no tent or blanket in only your underwear? That's not such a brilliant idea for a man your age."

Again with the "man your age," he thought. "Well, if I were young like you, I might get by then." He walked toward the door.

"You're talking to an old lady," she called back.

"Some old lady," he said. He left wondering if he could think of an excuse to buy another book, and went looking for a place to have a drink.

He needed to go to Minsk, and he needed some local help for the dig; he would also need to poke around Lida Castle when he got his hands on the map on the coin. It was not going to be easy. Belorusian laws about war graves were strict, and required academic permits for digs. This would have to be on the QT, because the chances of the authorities believing him as to the purpose of this wild goose chase would be less than zero.

02-23-2013, 09:35 PM
In Vegas, Red Romen packed his gear with help from his semi-trusty if somewhat dim assistant.





"Take this RATCHET, moron, and put it in the bag. We're almost done. Hatchet."




"The hatchet, dolt, put it in the bag."

"Oh, okay."

"Now latch it."


The sound of Red Romen's head bouncing off the ancient tabletop sounded much like a coconut being struck with a cricket bat.

In Maryland, Paul's head snapped to attention. "That wood! That glorious wood! I must have it!!!"

A mouse farted.

Paul picked up the phone. "Nutzall - put Beano on the next kitchen order."

02-24-2013, 06:07 AM
"Um, what exactly are you planning on doing with these two dudes tied up in the back of your RV?" Ratchet asked the creature.

"Well I know what you're gonna do with 'em Ratchet! Move 'em into my lair! snarf snarf." replied Red "and do it quickly! I don't have all day, I think that those korean ladies I ate at the nail salon are pushin' through if you know what I mean! snarf snarf."

Ratchet had been running errands for the beast all day with no appreciation from the leprechaun, it was in fact because of him that the creature had been released earlier that day. Ratchet was obsessed with perfectly book matched maple top guitars and after being told a thousand times that there will never be a "perfect" book match, he unwisely set into motion a series of events that led to the re-animation of the ginger menace.

"When are you gonna teach me how to do a re-top on this Rosewood ltd. Red? I think it's a great guitar but it could look better... if those dudes weren't so lazy at the PRS factory! I mean how hard can it be?!"

"Snarf snarf. I told you Ratchet! Yous gets what yous wants when I gets what I needs! snarf snarf" Red hissed.

While Ratchet dragged the bodies of Rango and Sergio out of the RV and into Red's lair, he thought to himself; "What am I doing? How did I let things get so bad? who the hell is gonna clean up this place, and why does this troll keep saying "snarf snarf" all the time? I mean he does kinda look like that weird dog/gnome creature from the "Thundercats" cartoon, but what the F#$k is wrong with this dude?"

Sergio awakened to find himself and Rango tied up in in the lair. Both men were bound to a middle seat from a 1989 Dodge Caravan that was repurposed as furniture in a space that looked like an episode of "Hoarders" had collided with the left over inventory of a thousand NAMM shows. There were piles of unfinished Schon guitars, stacks of Trans-trems, and general musical instrument parts hanging off of shelves like icicles from gutters. In the corner was a stack of old apple II C CRT monitors hooked up to a CCTV system that had live feeds from every TJ Maxx dressing room in the Las Vegas area, if Segio wasn't creeped out enough already, the dull sobbing from Rango would get him there.

"What is happening to us!?" Rango said, "Why are we wearing Snuggies? and what kind of psychopath braids his own hair into rope? Please God! Turn off the TV's!!!"

Sergio could not blame Rango for his temporary break-down, he had once rolled up into a fetal position and cried himself to sleep after going to Ikea one Christmas season, he knew the pain Rango was feeling, and after seeing the unidentified stains on his Snuggie, he could fight back the tears no more... The men cried, but it was a manly kind of crying. The kind of crying that men only do alone in the shower when nobody is looking, but there would be no steam to combat the puffiness of their eyes.

"I'm glad we didn't get facial's" Rango said, "It would've been a waste of money."

02-24-2013, 06:37 AM
Buck Dharma drove his Honda Element across town to his favorite park at about ten thirty PM later that night. Buck loved his Element for the same reason every dude that owns one tells you at party's... "You can hose it out Bro!" He backed into his favorite parking space, turned on his fog lights while turning off the main headlights as is custom, and sat and waited.

Buck noticed a blue BMW circling the lot slowly. The car would come up to Buck's Element, stop, and then peel out. On the third go round, after an especially impressive neutral-drop (if you go in for that sort of thing) the BMW backed into the spot next to him and parked.

Buck knew the deal. Tonight was his night. He did what he always does for these occasions and started the hour long BOC playlist on his iPhone and sprayed some Jovan "Sex Appeal for men" to set the mood.

The BMW window rolls down to expose what at first glance appeared to be SRV, but younger, and less dead. "Hey bro! whasup?"

"You know whasup!" Buck said, "Nice car, what'll I call you?"

"My name is Johnny, Johnny Turbo" the man in the BMW said, "What's your name?"

To which Buck replied; "My name is Buck, and I came to"...............

02-24-2013, 08:27 AM
A mouse farted.

Paul picked up the phone. "Nutzall - put Beano on the next kitchen order."

"What a mission!" Sergio thought to himself.

Using the infamous LOG_CANOE Universe accelerator-decelerator, Sergio decided to manipulate the space-time continuum. Sergio went back into the late '60's and successfully diverted Eric Clapton's attention during a critical phase of recording.....while the band was taking a break, Sergio began to explain how to "pack a guitar like a tank" using the C. Sterling Wolfe method of speaking very fast, gesturing wildly, and not making any sense. Eric became so agitated, he bolted from the recording studio, ran straight home, and began taking lessons as to how to become a manicurist instead of a musician.

http://fringemusic.files.wordpress.com/2010/02/bluesbreakers_john_mayall_with_eric_clapton.jpg (http://www.google.com/url?sa=i&source=images&cd=&cad=rja&docid=Wg6LGkKGAC2SvM&tbnid=CvteHUZkfKFvIM:&ved=0CAgQjRwwAA&url=http%3A%2F%2Ffringemusic.wordpress.com%2F2010% 2F02%2F02%2Fbluesbreakers-with-eric-clapton%2F&ei=dR4qUZPDH-XU0gGXooGABg&psig=AFQjCNGmc6W3vfXxVlglnzT262Gkxe47Aw&ust=1361801205553961)

Sergio was pleased. He believed he had completed his task. Grabbing the Beano comic book from the recording studio, left behind by the mumbling and nearly incoherent Clapton, he stepped back into the "universe accelerator-decelerator" and returned back to 2013 and the scene of his initial departure. In his hands, he had the prized comic...

http://images.gibson.com.s3.amazonaws.com/Products/Electric-Guitars/Les-Paul/Gibson-Custom/Eric-Clapton-1960-Les-Paul/Features-Images/Accessories-Beano.jpg (http://www.google.com/url?sa=i&source=images&cd=&cad=rja&docid=lEPsYD9P93axGM&tbnid=WCs4p64eixNEgM:&ved=0CAgQjRwwAA&url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww2.gibson.com%2FProducts%2FElec tric-Guitars%2FLes-Paul%2FGibson-Custom%2FEric-Clapton-1960-Les-Paul%2FAccessories.aspx&ei=nB8qUYqgCse30gHevIGoCQ&psig=AFQjCNFKcQLujrEkVwHgzr-WnqXIxGlkXw&ust=1361801500202671)

Upon returning, he found nothing the same.....

"Damn it" yelled Paul...."WRONG BEANO! Look what you've done!! Just look at me!!"

Sergio gasped....in place of the former ringer for Dr. Drew Pinsky, he now beheld...

http://thefuntimesguide.com/images/blogs/leprechaun-pot-of-gold-coins-by-IGNACIOLEO.jpg (http://www.google.com/url?sa=i&source=images&cd=&cad=rja&docid=BkO1dW61HgjCiM&tbnid=5iAW75cZO4ddUM:&ved=0CAgQjRwwAA&url=http%3A%2F%2Fholidays.thefuntimesguide.com%2F2 009%2F02%2Fthe_leprechaun.php&ei=JiAqUZXbJ4jo0gGo7YG4Cg&psig=AFQjCNHXcKgdIKaiz-D0mvkZwsgFAPwYmw&ust=1361801638697562)

Having totally distorted the space-time continuum by preventing John Mayall and his Bluesbreakers from recording a classic album, Paul never developed a flair for rock music or playing guitar....as a result, he unfortunately never developed his staggering auditory skills.

In this universe, he was merely a diminutive Cereal Pitch man.

"Gotta have my Lucky Charms" he kept shouting, while running around with a little green hat, and clutching a pipe.

Sergio realized his mistake....going back in time, he quickly rectified his error.

Impersonating Esteban, he held an impromptu spiritual meeting with a then-17 year old Eric Clapton. "Grasshopper....let me teach you how to play "House of the Rising Sun" using only your fingernails" he imparted to the young and impressionable Clapton.

All was restored...Sergio returned having repaired the hole in the space-time continuum.

He also had a can of....

http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9cOxMQ3Smgw/TC1OdAxSQbI/AAAAAAAABGI/mpDQF86iQQw/s1600/beano.jpg (http://writerjenn.blogspot.com/2010/07/beano-and-bingo-book-5.html)

As he reunited with Paul, all he could think of was that, while briefly back in 1966, he was CERTAIN that he saw a 795 year old commercial music producer holding a bag of diapers and playing an accordion at the Bluesbreaker's studio.

"Nah", he said to himself..."couldn't be."

02-24-2013, 09:45 AM
Shawn Nutzall glanced down at his shopping list.
Paua Sugar Pops
Abalone Hearts
Mammoth Ivory Soap
Tequila Sunrise Glow Coctail
McCarty Crackers
Santana Oil (SPF 39)
Grainger Bass (filleted)
Spotted Dick
and the newest entry

"Here I am the titular head of the Special Forces Unit and I'm stuck with the shopping." In spite of himself, he smiled. The word 'titular' always tickled his funny bone. Besides, everyone at the factory took a turn at the shopping.

02-24-2013, 10:00 AM
Hee Hee....he said "titular"...


02-24-2013, 10:29 AM
Please see the edit in the OP.
Cast in order of appearance:

Glambin Turkkel - studio owner (deceased)
Bennett Oppraman aka Mr. Hyde aka Ned the Destroyer
Frank Bello - lead guitarist in the pub group "Hendrixonators"
Paul Reed Smith - U.S. liaison to Mi6 "P"
Paul Rodgers - sometime BadCo singer
Ell Chefman - aging studio owner
Hands Mantic - walletless enforcer and sword smith
Mike Three - Armed Special Forces
Mike Deeley - PRS Sales Rep.
the mole - Rodgers' roadie (deceased)
Woodfan - guitarist and enabler of Oppraman
Larry Thomas - CEO of Fender Musical Instruments
David Gilmour - Agent 009
Davey Knowles - leprechaun infiltrator agent 0011
Sergio - Rapper Extraordinaire
Rango - Guitarist
Red Ramen aka Red Not Ramen Noodles - immortal evil leprechaun
Linda - racist Polish manicurist (deceased)
Doc Bill Ruger - small studio owner and beginning guitarist
Ratchet - Red Ramen's moron henchman (deceased)
Shawn Nutzall - head of the PRS Special Forces Unit
unnamed Abbey Road Studio engineer (deceased)
unnamed Abbey Road Studio assistant engineer (deceased)
Inspector Sky Fall - Scotland Yard (wife of Gilmour) agent 007½
Les the dog - telepathic dog of Doc Bill Ruger named after and a gift from Ell Chefman
Autumn Sky - warrier girlfriend of Davy Knowles agent 006½
M - Mi6 director
The Girl with the Dragon Guitar
Marco Polo Knopfler - agent 0010
Buck Dharma - lead guitarist for the BOC
Johnny Turbo - (deceased)
Ty Coon - Wall St whizz kid (deceased)
Yngwoo Malmsteen - owner of the Yngwoo Irish Leprechaun Pub
Lena Berzanskis aka Elena aka Lenochka
Q - Mi6 special weapons
Bodashka - informant
Skitchy - PTC
Lindsay Lohan - skank
Paul Miles - Private Stock Team
various lesser leprechauns

02-24-2013, 10:54 AM

In a Central Park apartment (probably one of the ones below)


The young Wall St Wizz Kid called Ty Coon could smell something burning. "What the hell?" he thought. He noticed a little smoke coming out from underneath the bathroom door. Quick as a flash he grabbed the fire extinguisher and headed for the bathroom.

He pulled open the door and was met with a site that can only be described as biblical. Great orange and red flames bellowed before him like giant sheets in a storm. His wife's bush was burning.

The plant was now reduced to a pile of ash, though thankfully the flames hadn't reched anything else. As the smoke cleared he saw what he thought was a green hat and maybe some sparkling gold.
"Sweetheart, what on earth have you been doing in here?" There was no answer. "Sweetheart?" He asked again with a touch of concern. It would be the last thing he ever said.

The leprechaun opened the safe and grabbed what it had come for.

Meanwhile, at the PRS factory a can of Spotted Dick started to shake....

02-24-2013, 11:08 AM
Frank Bello was more than a little worried. His half brother Sergio and his best friend Rango were not on the flight from Las Vegas. Frank had received a nonsense text from Sergio just before he went to bed, but it was classic Sergio. It was filled with the rapper's rather unique way of talking, even while texting. After a long night fronting his band "The Hendrixonators" at the Irish pub, Bello was just in no mood to try to decipher Sergio's prose.

Now Sergio and Rango were missing. Frank called the bar where he and the rest of The Hendrixonators were scheduled to play all week.

"Yngwoo's Irish Leprechaun"

"Yngwoo, this is Frank Bello - I have to cancel The Hendrixonators for a couple of nights. Something has come up."

"Damnit, Bello. I just got 18 color glossy fliers printed up promoting your little tribute band."

Bello bristled. "Look Yngwoo. If it weren't for my band, you couldn't afford to pay your own Jameson bill, much less stock the bar. We've been playing there for three weeks straight and you still haven't paid us. Get your brother to fill in for us."

"Yngwie's playing is too complicated for my audience," complained Yngwoo. And he was right of course. Yngwie Malmsteen had been thrilling audiences for the first five minutes of his concerts for years. But his constant zippy techno-speedy playing was just too much for the average Joe to listen to. After just a song or two, Yngwie could empty a stadium. Yngwoo typically booked his brother as the last act on very busy nights like St Patrick's Day, Cinco de Mayo, and Frank Zappa's birthday when he wanted to clear the bar at closing time.

"OK, I'll call Yngwie," said Yngwoo dejectedly.

"Good. Call you when I get back." and Bello hung up the phone.

Yngwoo didn't call Yngwie right away. He first put on "Don't Fear the Reaper" and danced a little leprechaun jig while banging a cowbell...

02-24-2013, 11:42 AM
Chefman's trip from Lida to Minsk by helicopter was uneventful, and as the taxi drove down Storozhevskaya Ulitsa to the Hotel Belarus, his eyes scanned the city for landmarks he might recognize from his time there 200 years before. There appeared to be few. In 1813, the population of the city had been only 11,000. The French POWs had been ten times that number, although not in this hospital where he'd worked as a doctor/prisoner, and they had been billeted elsewhere.

Now, as the capital of the country of Belarus, it has nearly two million residents. The changes in the city were almost incomprehensible to Chefman. He began to lose heart as to the likelihood of finding the grave site. He'd been at the Battle of Berezina, where French troops had been decimated trying to cross the river and escape the Russian army; it was only the bravery of the allied Dutch engineers and Swiss contingent who'd made the crossing possible. This is where he and many other French and allied prisoners had been captured; the POWs had been from every nation in Europe; contrary to popular belief, only half of Napoleon's Grand Armee of 600,000 men had been French. The largest contingent were Poles who sought to free their country from Russian occupation, but there were thousands of Lithuanians, Germans, Prussians, Italians, etc.

In fact, there were eerie parallels to the Nazi invasion of Russia 130 years later, as the Axis contingent were made up of Germans, Italians, Hungarians, Rumanians, Finns, and also many French SS volunteers, among others. The difference in WWII was that the numbers of troops involved were staggeringly higher, nearly two million men on the Axis side, and probably 3-4 million on the Russian.

Chefman learned from his driver that the Minsk city center had been destroyed by fire in 1835. Between that, WWII, and the postwar reconstruction boom, there had been almost nothing left of the old city. His only hope was that the burials had taken place far enough from the city, near the original battlefield by the river, to have been preserved.

When the car reached the hotel, Chefman paid and tipped the driver, pulled out his backpack and gig bag, and checked into the hotel. Typical of Belarusian hotels, the rate was less than $40 a night. He left his bags in the room, and decided to take a stroll to the city center. While walking through the lobby, he was startled to see a familiar face. It was the woman from the bookstore.

"Pryjemna bačyć vas i niečakanasciu," Chefman said in Belorusian.

"Nice to see you, too, and you shouldn't be surprised," the woman said in English. "I followed you."


"Because I recognized you," she said. "I know who you are, and what you are. And you need help. I didn't believe you were a tourist from the first moment in the bookstore. You see, I am like you. I lived in Vilnius, where you lived, in 1814. You were a professor of history at the university. Everyone knew you. And suddenly, you disappeared in about 1840. But you never aged. I began to suspect, because you see, I was born in Moscow in 1568. I had to disappear from time to time myself. I was in Vilnius on one of my own escapades. Do you see now why I followed you?"

"I thought I was the only one," Chefman said. "But I don't remember you."

"I had assumed the identity of a Jewish woman," she replied. "We wore wigs to conceal our hair, and stayed out of the way of the Gentiles. But you I knew of because you visited the Shul to discuss history with the rebbe, and walked the streets of our neighborhood with him. It was so unusual that the memory stuck with me. People would point you out, and say, 'That is the man who is interested in our culture'. My name is Elena, by the way. People call me Lena."

She offered her hand. Chefman shook it and said, "Ell Chefman."

"And what does your wife call you, Ell?"

"What wife?" he replied. "My ex wife calls me unmentionable names. What does your husband call you?"

"He called me Lenochka, but he's been dead for 70 years. I like being single. Let's take a walk and get something to eat."

02-24-2013, 01:06 PM
Sky Fall's normally immaculate desk at Scotland Yard was a mess. She had been gone for a month with her husband David, accompanying him to Pompeii to film the rockumentary Gilmour On an Island at Pompeii. She had actually written the lyrics on her husbands best selling solo album to date and he wanted her along.

The scene was remarkably reminiscent of Pink Floyd Live at Pompeii and it was no accident. Gilmour still got meager royalties from the film he did with his ex-bandmates in 1972, over 40 years ago. The production company had set up a large stage, similar to the stage Gilmour had used in Gdańsk in 2008. He had Nick Mason with him and Guy Pratt, but his long time friend Richard Wright was sorely missed. Although Gilmour had actually played sax for the cut "Red Sky at Night", a bruised tongue from a heated night with Sky forced Gilmour to call in the gregarious, long blonde haired Scott Page. Gilmour's chief backing vocalists David Crosby and Graham Nash were there too, though the heat caused Crosby to remain in a bathtub full of chilled vodka, or so he claimed.

Sky thought about how Crosby who Still with Nash sounded Young for being so old and wrinkled. Somewhere across the busy Scotland Yard office, "Suite: Judy Blue Eyes" was playing softly.

But her desk really was a mess. While she had been away, her co-workers had taken to using it as an overflow area for their countless boxes for delivery orders of fish and chips. With one great swoop, she managed to clear away enough detritus to get to the ringing telephone.

All she could remember now were the words "Find The One" and then a muffled scream. Sky was flying down the stairs towards the front door of the building, the fashionable slits in her skirt and four inch heels seeming not to impede her at all. Behind her, the CD player started playing "Find the Cost of Freedom."

Across town in the small soundproof telephone booth adjacent to Studio 3 at Abbey Road, the assistant engineer bled from his nose as he slumped to the floor and died with the telephone still in his hand.

In his basement work shop, Bennett slowly pulled the knitting needle out of the voodoo doll's left nostril.

02-24-2013, 02:02 PM
Doc Bill Ruger sweated as he dug. Almost the entire 2 acres of his West Virginia farm was covered with 6 foot deep holes. It just had to still be here somewhere. But he had lost the map, or more precisely he had loaned the map to Scott Page and he had lost the map.

Ruger met Page in the 90's in Boston. Ruger was attending yet another MacWorld Expo and had come across Page unexpectedly in one of the tiny 10 by 10 curtained exposition booths. There, Page and an unknown bass player were jamming hard while a new recording software for the mac took it all in. Ruger watched Page appreciatively as Page wrung incredible notes out of his sax.

Sweating, Page and the bass player took a break to light applause from other Expo attendees. Ruger introduced himself.

"Hi, I'm Bill," he said as he shook Page's sweaty hand.

"Hi, I'm Scott," came the reply.

"I know, I recognized you from the Delicate Sound of Thunder video. It must have been a blast to be on that tour."

"It really was. I had such a great time playing with those guys."

"What kind of guy is Gilmour?"

"He's actually a great guy and very approachable."

"I really liked the video," said Ruger. "It was mixed so well and the camera angles were great. I really enjoyed watching that one backup singer closest to Dave sing. She was hot."

"Yeah, that was Rachel Fury. And you're right, she really was a hottie," grinned Page.

"There is something I always wanted to know. You had a mic stuffed into the bell of your sax and during the song Money, you yelled something into it. What did you say?"

Page was rocked with laughter, so much so that he had to sit down.

"What is it? Did I say something wrong?" asked Ruger, concerned that he might have insulted Page.

"No, not at all! I yelled 'Yo Buford!'"

"Who's Buford?"

"He was the sound guy. I was just messing with him. I still can't believe they left it in for both the CD and the video."

"That is so cool. But why are you laughing so hard?"

"Because after all this time, you are the first person to ask me that."

The exchange had cemented Page's and Ruger's friendship. That is how Page had come to gain access to Ruger's secret acreage and the map.

Frustrated as he was with Page for losing the map, Ruger still smiled to himself as he started another hole.

(note - the conversation above actually took place in Boston between myself and Page - he was really fun to talk with. Listen for Scott needling engineer Buford Jones at 2:55 on the track)

02-24-2013, 02:48 PM
"My name is Buck, and I came to........take a look at that green PRS you are selling Johnny Turbo." Buck had the unsavory habit of selling and trading his endorser guitars to people on Cragslist.

He always did the routine where he would play his BOC mix waiting for someone to say "I really like this band" or "God, I wish music nowadays was this awesome", but nobody ever did, and this was why he sprayed the Jovan cologne all over his bare chest. He thought that if he could transport people's senses back in time to the seventies, he might get recognized. It had only worked once in New Jersey on a therapist, but that is another story.

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours" Johnny Turbo said.

"Well, alright, here it is!" Buck whipped out a Steinberger that he had received free and was trying to swap it for Johnny's guitar.

"Are you sure this is real graphite?" Johnny asked, "I am sick of expensive guitars that have finish fading issues. I figure real graphite will never fade, and that will mean I will never have to worry about not liking it!"

"Sure is real graphite but there is one thing, I'm missing the tremelo bar for the Trans Trem." Buck was always playing this game on people from Craigslist. Talk on the phone and the guitar is "mint", get to the deal and something is "missing" but only "costs a few bucks at Guitar Center", total crap. He has a pile of them at home and just wants to get the best of random people because he is angry with the world over the fact that nobody likes his crap band anymore.

But Johnny was too smart; "I'm not falling for any Gimmetry, here Buck! You said it was MINT on the phone!?"

"Well it smells like mint!" Buck replied, "Don't you know who I am? I was in BOC! This now means that this is a celebrity-owned guitar! That means it's worth at least ten times as much as a regular version of the same guitar!"

"That's a load!" Johnny replied, " I mean I guess I could see it if you were somebody like Clapton or Page, but just some random dude from a band long forgotten? I don't think so! Sweeten the deal a little bit."

"How about this, I will take you to the place that bought all the left over stock from Steinberger and you can pick out a brand new trem arm, I'll even let you pay me for gas and pose for a picture with you." Buck said.

"Total crap!" Johnny replied; "I'll follow you to the place, you buy me the trem arm, and I will fake recognize you at two Starbucks of your choice after we do the trade."

The prospect of getting recognition for his "fame" in public was too much for Buck; "Deal! but will you still pay for gas?"

"Hell no! but I will give you a ride if you like?" Johnny asked.

Buck looked at Johnny's blue BMW and said; "Nah, I'll just have you follow me, I won't be seen around town in a friggin Nazi sled, I was in BOC!"

02-24-2013, 04:13 PM
"Sergio, wake up! Somebody is coming!" Rango had been trying to awaken his fellow captive for hours; "What the heck were you dreaming about?! You kept saying weird stuff about time travel and Beano, when we get out of here I have this spiritual healer that you must go see! Your chakras are a mess."

"Sorry Rango, I always get nightmares when I eat mexican food." said Sergio.

"Well that explains why you were talking about Beano in your sleep, by the way you fart in your sleep a lot... and I do mean a lot."

Just then Ratchet walked into the room with a toilet brush. He was green in the face from cleaning up after Red in the bathroom, not because he was Red's minion, but because he really needed go to the bathroom. "Oh GOD! What's that smell?! Ratchet gagged and threw up a little in his mouth; "First I had to clean some red-braided ginger curlies of the toilet seat, and now is smells like somebody laid a chimichanga in their speedos!" Rango motioned towards Sergio with pleading eyes.

"Great! all I wanted to do was replace my inferior maple top on this guitar, and now I'm trapped in this dump with you guys and a troll that eats people. I'm going to Starbucks up the street, at least their bathrooms get cleaned once a week." Ratchet proclaimed.

"Could you bring me a soy chai, no water?" Rango asked.

"Ppfftt!" was all Ratchet could muster as he slammed the door.

"What's all this noise?!! snarf snarf, Where is that no good minion of mine? We have company! snarf, snarf" Red walked into the room followed by Johnny Turbo and Buck. Red showed Johnny the huge box of Trans Trem bars while Buck stood over the two captive men.

"So do you two want my autograph? Ten dollars." Buck was always trying to make a buck, in fact he kept repeating that line at every party he went to until the other party guests left or punched themselves in the face. "Hey Red, what do you want for these two guys? I figure I could take them home, I have always wanted a captive audience."

"Well I don't know Buck, how's about you sign fifty autographed guitars for me and you can have them!?" Red shot back.

"I don't know, this one smells kinda funny. Can you take these Snuggies off and let me see them walk around? I just want to make sure they aren't missing any parts." replied Buck.

"I told you on the phone that they were in mint condition" said Red.

"They don't smell mint Red!" Buck retorted, Johnny Turbo shook his head while looking for a suitable trem arm.

Red walked over and ate his way through the ginger-haired ropes that bound the two men, "Get up and Dance for the man!" Red instructed the two prisoners; "Snarf, snarf"

As the two men were released, Ratchet returned from Starbucks sans Rango's soy-chai no water latte; "Who the heck are these two guys Red!? You trying to double cross me!?" The thought of cleaning up and assisting Red for another hour infuriated Ratchet. He pulled out what could only be described as the smallest "girly gun" anyone has ever seen and shot Buck right between the eyes. He then jammed two Trans Trem bars into Johnny Turbos neck killing him instantly, as he turned towards Red ready to fire another shot, the leprechaun pounced on him and wrestled him to the floor.

Rango and Sergio looked at each other and decided it was time to make a break for it. They ran through the door Ratchet had left open and dashed into the alley.

"Sweet! somebody left the keys in this BMW, let's get out of here!" Rango said.

"Oh hell no" Sergio replied.

"What? We have to get out of here!" Rango was frantic; "Why not?" to which Sergio said

"Well first off; it's BLUE! I hate blue! Second; I'm not being seen driving around town in a BMW, it's a Nazi sled!"

"Who cares?! We are running for our lives here! Besides, I think that with the two of us having painted toe nails, it might be a little to "fay" for us to be seen in a Honda Element. My god! it even has dolphin stickers on the bumper!" Rango blurted.

While the two of them argued about the relative merits of how what kind of car you drive relates to how you represent yourself to the world, inside Red got the better of Ratchet and took one big bite devouring Ratchet's whole head!

Red turned to Buck who was surprisingly not dead and said; "Look at what you did Buck! The deal is still on, you let them get away and now you owe me one hundred autographed guitars!"

"Okay Red, give me a sharpie and I'll do it! I would never let my fans down." Buck signed the first guitar and showed it to the angry troll; "You idiot! You just ruined a guitar! Who wants anything with your signature on it? Red fumed.

"But I thought that was the deal? I'll sign the guitars for you and you can sell them."

"No you halfwit! I need to sell autographed guitars that people WANT!" Red spat in bucks face; "Now sign 'em like this: E-R-I-C (space) C-L-A-P-T-O-N"

Buck was in a hell designed specifically for him.

02-24-2013, 04:34 PM
Ratchet's .22 short was a gift from a male stripper he had been friendly with at Circus Circus. Not only was it small, it fired .22 shorts, subsonic ones at that.


Still, Dharma had taken one right between the eyes. It was fortunate that Buck had been wearing his 80s rock star sunglasses with the heavy metal bridge. The .22 had dented the glasses square in the middle of the bridge and just ever so lightly cut Dharmas skin between his eyebrows. This severe ouchie was now just barely dripping small drops of blood on the guitars as he signed "E-R-I-K (space) K-L-A-P-T-O-N."

02-24-2013, 07:37 PM
The can of Spotted Dick slowly came to rest. "CUT!" yelled Nutzhall. "Alright, now the rest of you get in there and let's finish our 'Harlem Shake' video. It'll be the only one out there featuring a can of Spotted Dick."

From the corner a voice called out, "Are you sure I can't shake my butt in this video?"

Nutzall put his hand on his forehead in frustration. "For the last time, Spalted Dick, no. Where's the frigging joke in that?"

Twenty miles west of Toronto, a beard twitched. The flamed maple phone rang. The Beard picked up the hot line. "I heard that" was all the caller said before hanging up.

Albrecht Smuten
02-25-2013, 05:48 AM
IF this is ever about to contain a certain hat-wearing foreigner, I DON'T wish to be referred to as "Prince Albert". Thanks in advance.

02-25-2013, 09:43 PM

"What?" asked Sergio.

"I said dibs." the muffled sound of Rango's voice said from the backseat of Buck Dharma's Honda Element complete with dolphin stickers; "there's a Siggy in this car!"

"Color?" said Sergio

"Kind of a yellowy-green." Rango replied.

"Keep it. Remember what that chick Linda said at the nail salon? About "the one" guitar that could send Red back to where he came from, I wonder who would know where to find that guitar?" asked Sergio

Rango pulled the remaining red hairs out of his iPhone and started clicking away; " Yes, I'm wondering if anybody there speaks english? You do? Alright, this may seem like an odd question but.... does there happen to be an elderly american man eating there that ordered an angelfish sandwich with lettuce on toast? There is ? May I please speak to him? Thanks."

Sergio took time out of plucking his eyebrows in the rear view mirror to ask; "Who are you talking to?"

"Some diner in Minsk. I googled the closest one to the oldest library in town, I'm trying to reach Ell Chefman but he has gone missing again. Every time he does this his wife emails me saying Ell is having another one of his "Episodes". He usually believes he is a vampire, werewolf, secret agent or some combination of the three, his wife says she never new dementia could be so expensive! She just emailed explaining that Ell has spent $8900 on a helicopter ride to Minsk, oh wait.... Hello? Ell? What'cha doing buddy? Oh, I'm sorry... Well I didn't realize secret agent vampires ate angelfish...... No, I wasn't aware of that...... Oh, really?...... How interesting. Let me ask you a question Ell... Ahh, French Revolution you say?..... No I did not know that the Egyptians have a Stargate to alternate dimensions...

Rango had learned that when conversing with Ell... it's best to just let him run his course. While Ell became tried and took a few bites of his angelfish sandwich to regain his oratory prowess Rango asked of the korean myth of "the one" guitar. After twenty minutes Rango said; " Well thanks a lot Ell, be sure to not call your wife... she's pissed at you."

"Well what did he say?" Sergio asked.

" I can't say really, but I believe it was a mixture of the movies "Kill Bill", "Indiana Jones and the temple of Doom", "Leprechaun 4 in space", and "Skyfall"... The only things that he repeated several times was the phrase; Hattori Hanzo and Squirt.... I wonder what that means?" Rango relied.

"It means we are going to Colorado." Sergio said.

"Colorado? What's in Colorado?" asked Rango.

"Hattori Hansomatic is in Colorasta...... Look! a Two-Fer!!!"

The two men glanced at the strip mall and noticed a $40 mani-pedi advertisement; good today only with complimentary beverages.

In unison they cheered: "Appletini's!!!!!!!!"

02-26-2013, 06:36 AM
In his secret laboratory, Bennett continued to work feverishly. Having grown tired of voodoo dolls and the like, he was now working on the "metrosexual ray". As he dialed the various knobs and set the parameters, he was locked in on both Sergio and Rango.

The ray emitted it's ultraviolet and infrared beams.....they found their target.

Thousand of miles away, Sergio and Rango stopped discussing the pros and cons of 45 caliber vs. 357. They halted their conversation about the best ales and which whiskey was made according to the best standards of brewing.

Suddenly, they dove into the glove compartment. Sergio began plucking his eyebrows, and Rango was focused on ordering an "appletini".

"My, your nose hairs look lovely" Rango commented.

"Thanks" said Sergio...."You chest hairs are shaved to perfection"

Back in the lab, Bennett grinned a malevolent grin. Voodoo dolls??? Blech. this was MUCH more fun.

His joy was interupted by a voice from upstairs....

"Bennett....What the hell are you doing down there again? Playing with yourself??"

"Ginger...I'll be upstairs soon...I'm almost done"

"Get your ass up here now! There is some crazy man on the phone who insists on talking to you."

"Are you kidding? I told those Indian Pharmacies NEVER to call the house!"

"No...it's some nut named Ell Chefman...he is insisting he needs to speak to you. Something about turning to dust, and being very old. And something about Pampers".

"I don't know the guy....hang up on him!"

With that, Bennett turned off his hearing aid, shut off the world around him, and went back to his diabolical schemes.

He began to set the dials to hone in on his next target in Colorado. Ginger's screams from upstairs were muffled by Bennett's deafness, and the Airedale began to howl with a wail that was reminiscent of a California Lawyer attempting to measure the tolerances of his guitar's volume and tone knobs.

Over 2,500 miles away, in Colorado, the infamous "Hattori Hansomatic" was bored. Having singlehandedly overcome all the laws outlawing a certain weed in his home state, while wearing shorts, he was looking for a new challange.
Suddenly, his "Hattori 7th sense" began to tingle....."Who is this Rango....and Sergio...I feel the force closing in....we are destined to have an apocalyptic meeting shortly" he said to himself, only outloud startling his wife and daughter who looked up, only to see his fleet form racing down into his secret Hattori Cave.

Deep inside, he knew that the next few days would be life-changing. He went into his closet to rummage for his costume...he knew he'd be needing it soon.

02-26-2013, 07:56 AM
"Who were you talking to?"

"Well the first call was from Rango. He may yet prove useful if I can get him out of the nail salons." Chefman said between bites of his sandwich. He was a little disappointed in the fare at the cafe in Minsk. They didn't really have a proper angelfish sandwich. His delicate palate had identified the operative layer of the sandwich in his hand as Azov Tadpole Goby, a native Russian species that lived in the Sea of Azov in the near-estuary zone of the Kuban River. It was passable as a sandwich meat, but it certainly wasn't angelfish.

Lena furrowed her eyebrows at Chefman. Firstly because he was making funny faces at his sandwich and secondly because of her appetizer. On Chefman's recommendation, she had swallower two Siamese fighting fish whole, alive and in short order. "It's the only way to enjoy Betas," he had told her. Now, somewhere near her gall bladder, she could feel the two fish duking it out and she slowly digested them to death. She gulped her vodka-fizz in an effort to either speed their demise or inebriate them at the very least.

"The other call was to Oppraman," said Chefman. "I needed to take his temperature on this whole thing. He usually takes my calls if only to argue with me, but he didn't take it this time. I fear he may be up to a bit more than his usual shenanigans." Just then Chefman remembered seeing a 'Hail to the Leprechaun' poster in Bennett's workshop the one time he had visited so long ago. The bite of 'angelfish' sandwich nearly caught in his throat.

"Why are we just waiting around here any way? What's next?"

"We are waiting for a package from Maryland. I can't eat any more of this goby, let's head for the post office."

02-26-2013, 08:20 AM
Paul set the wormy mahogany guitar on the desk of the new hire. Inside, hidden in the control cavity was a small jaw trap Paul had fashioned from stainless steel. Each jaw had razor sharp teeth that interlocked upon closing. He had designed the mechanism on a swivel to pop out whenever an E# was played. Not an F, mind you, but an E# - pay attention to the key signature!

He was almost late getting the device to the mole's desk because of the other special project he had whipped up on short notice. Earlier in the day, he had received a call from Ell Chefman. It was not a pleasant call, but Paul agreed that it was important enough. He had spent most of the morning modifying a Starla to work as a metal detector. If you held a Cb chord at the 9th fret, the mechanism inside changed to the metal detection mode and you could hear the output easily through headphones plugged into the output jack. The fingering is the same as a B maj chord at the 9th fret, but you had to be thinking in the key of Cb. Again, the key signature is everything.

Paul knew that only accomplished studio musicians like Chefman could even think in Cb, so there was very little danger of the Starla being used in this capacity by anyone else. That fingering would yield a run of the mill B maj for anyone else. Paul had boxed up the guitar and overnighted it to Chefman care of general delivery, Minsk. He had included an old pair of Sennheiser headphones vintage 1980. To Chefman, they would appear positively modern.

02-26-2013, 08:47 AM
The mole was late for work. He had been on the phone with Paul Rogers all morning trying in vain again to get him to go along with the scheme he had cooked up to get Rodgers an endorsement guitar deal with PRS, thus diminishing the company in the eyes of the public because Rodgers didn't even play guitar. Years of taking only the leavings from back-stage drug parties had twisted the roadie's mind to the point where he had a rampant paranoia going.

As he drove to Log Canoe Circle, the mole thought of the tipping point. Back in 2009 when Bad Company was touring, Smith had been led backstage to talk guitar with Howard Leese. Something in the mole's head snapped as he realized that even this funny looking skinny guy had better access to the band than he did. He resolved then and there to bring down the PRS Company - or at least give it a black eye.

The mole put on a happy face as he strode through the lobby in the North East corner of the plant. He was ruefully aware that he didn't yet have his own key and had to check in with the receptionist, with photo ID, every time he entered the building. He made his way down the hall to the promotions department and to his desk. There, to his surprise, was a very interesting looking guitar. The body was naturally finished wormy mahogany which somehow looked kinda cool. Attached was a note. "Paul Rodgers Prototype - need documenting photos ASAP"

The mole picked up the guitar and nestled it on his lap. He plugged it into a Super Dallas and started working his way up the strings. He wasn't a very good player - he missed the sixth truing entirely. On the fifth string he picked and fingered his way up the board looking for any fretting problems: A - A# - B - B# - C - C# - D - D# - E - E#…

The pain was excruciating. Looking down, he saw that he had been emasculated. The sheer shock of it killed him.

In the office next door, the phone rang. "Yes, Paul?"

"You hired him. You clean it up."

As he hung up, Smith could here from his office that the spindle on the number 2 CNC machine was beginning to chatter. He called to the production floor to have it looked at.

02-26-2013, 09:31 AM
Hands Mantic was busy in his workshop sharpening an exact replica of the samurai sword worn by his ancestor Tokugawa Ieyasu (徳川 家康), the inspiration for James Clavell's Novel Shogun and Mantic's 12th generation grandfather. Only Hands' closest friends knew of his sword making and the house of swords he called Hattori Hansomatic in the Hattori Cave under his house in Colorado. The name was an homage to his great...great grandfather's friend Hattori Hanzō (服部 半蔵) who had led the future shogun Tokugawa to safety in Mikawa Province across Iga territory in 1582. Hands was also himself named after Hanzō.

Hands stoked the coal furnace and worked the bellows. A sword blank lay in the coals glowing. He would have to fold, hammer and reheat the blank may times to get enough carbon layers in it to make it worthy of his final craft. He thought of the ax-bass he had made special order not so long ago and again cursed himself for letting it go.

02-26-2013, 09:46 AM
Doc Bill cursed a friendly curse on Scott Page as he dug. Almost 20 holes and he still did not have his quarry. He looked across the field. It looks like it had been carpet-bombed, save for the treasure on the side of each hole. Ruger had managed to find his gold reserves, baseball cards, stamp collection, beer can collection, diamonds, stash of real CocaCola from before the formula change and the use of high fructose corn syrup, a collection of first editions, vintage vinyl, a Ferrari 308 GTS (Red of course), a time capsule with original da Vinci manuscripts, a mastodon tusk, a Solothurn S-18/1000 with thousands of rounds of HEI, several other weapons caches and various pieces of old moonshine stills.

"I'm redrawing my map before I bury all this sh*t again," thought Ruger. His shovel hit another clunk in the ground. Carefully, Ruger pulled out the heavy chest and checking its seal, saw that it had been just as unmolested as all of his other treasures.

02-26-2013, 12:55 PM
Sky Fall was in the office of M. Her husband David Gilmour was agent agent 009, but she was agent 007½, which happened to be both her dress size and her shoe size.

"Your husband is on his way to the Colonies," said M.

"I know. I'm off to the Isle of Man to see agent 0011 and 006½," said Fall.

"Good. Before you go, see Q. He has some new things from P. Oh, and agent 006½ is downstairs with Q."

Sky went to the basement in the Tower of London. She chuckled to herself as she thought of the secret location of Mi6. Everyone thought it was gotten to by a secret door in the back of a taylor's haberdashery just off of Lancaster Gate with tunnels under Kensing Gardens, but no, it was right under everyone's noses in one of the most famous sights in London.

In the basement laboratory, Q looked disheveled and put out, so everything was normal with him.

"Look, Sky. Don't be batting your eyes at me, I'm not giving you another Porsche Cayman, not after what happened to the last one."

"How was I supposed to know that it could only go 98 in reverse? If you had stepped up the gearing a bit more, that Lambo would never have caught me."

Smiling, Sky Fall noticed agent 006½, Autumn Sky was testing out a killer shade of lipstick.

"Hello Autumn."

"Hello Fall."



Q just rolled his eyes. Every time these two met it was the same opening banter.

02-26-2013, 01:05 PM

02-26-2013, 02:28 PM
Meanwhile, the "metrosexual" ray was beginning to wear off.

Sergio and Rango found themselves in the spa, with cucumbers on their eyes, and a hot towel draped around their bottom. They still had a trace of mascara and the faintest hint of "Hai Karate!" which Sergio had stolen from El Cheffman about 30 years ago....but that was another story.

"What was that all about"? said Sergio.

"Not sure, but your toenails are gorgeous" replied Rango.

Then, with the ray having finally worn off...they were off to Colorado to chase down the elusive Hatori Hanzo.

Meanwhile, Bennett had just gotten back from Costco with Ginger.

"I'll be down in the basement for awhile" he muttered, as he went down the stairs.

"Playing with yourself again?" she replied sarcastically.

But Bennett didn't reply....he was already in an altered state, mesmerized by his latest invention. Sergio and Rango were not to be his only targets today! He gleefully rubbed his hands together, giggling to himself as he recalled his last meeting with his pal, Buck Dharma. Buck had recently fallen on hard times, selling his endorsement guitars at below market prices. However, it was only minutes before Buck answered the phone, responding to the fake caller ID letting him know that his best friend was calling.

"Eric...how the hell are you!" "Haven't seen you since they erased all my tracks for "Imaginos" and recorded over it. You owe me money!"

"No....it's Bennett, Buck"



"Weren't you the guy who paid me $10 bucks to sign your Steinberger last year?"

"Never mind that...I have a mission for you". Have you ever heard of "Hattori Hansomatic?"

"Of course...he's a legend. Why?"

Bennett revealed his plan. He added...."I'll give you $10 bucks to do it."

Buck agreed immediately. He would never let on...but these days...for $10 bucks...he'd give away all his bootleg copies of" Secret Treaties"

And with that, the scene changed.

02-26-2013, 02:35 PM
WHAN that Aprille with his shoures soote 1 (http://www.bartleby.com/40/0101.html#noteFN1)

The droghte 2 (http://www.bartleby.com/40/0101.html#noteFN2) of Marche hath perced to the roote,

And bathed every veyne in swich 3 (http://www.bartleby.com/40/0101.html#noteFN3) licour,

Of which vertu engendred is the flour;

Whan Zephirus eek with his swete breeth

Inspired hath in every holt 4 (http://www.bartleby.com/40/0101.html#noteFN4) and heeth

The tendre croppes, 5 (http://www.bartleby.com/40/0101.html#noteFN5) and the yonge sonne

Hath in the Ram his halfe cours y-ronne, 6 (http://www.bartleby.com/40/0101.html#noteFN6)

And smale fowles maken melodye,

That slepen al the night with open ye,

(So priketh hem nature in hir corages: 7 (http://www.bartleby.com/40/0101.html#noteFN7)

Than longen folk to goon on pilgrimages,

And palmers for to seken straunge strondes, 8 (http://www.bartleby.com/40/0101.html#noteFN8)

To ferne halwes, 9 (http://www.bartleby.com/40/0101.html#noteFN9) couthe 10 (http://www.bartleby.com/40/0101.html#noteFN10) in sondry londes;

And specially, from every shires ende

Of Engelond, to Caunterbury they wende,

The holy blisful martir for to seke,

That hem hath holpen, whan that they were seke. 11 (http://www.bartleby.com/40/0101.html#noteFN11)

02-26-2013, 02:48 PM
WHAN that Aprille with his shoures soote 1 (http://www.bartleby.com/40/0101.html#noteFN1)

The droghte 2 (http://www.bartleby.com/40/0101.html#noteFN2) of Marche hath perced to the roote,

And bathed every veyne in swich 3 (http://www.bartleby.com/40/0101.html#noteFN3) licour,

Of which vertu engendred is the flour;

Whan Zephirus eek with his swete breeth

Inspired hath in every holt 4 (http://www.bartleby.com/40/0101.html#noteFN4) and heeth

The tendre croppes, 5 (http://www.bartleby.com/40/0101.html#noteFN5) and the yonge sonne

Hath in the Ram his halfe cours y-ronne, 6 (http://www.bartleby.com/40/0101.html#noteFN6)

And smale fowles maken melodye,

That slepen al the night with open ye,

(So priketh hem nature in hir corages: 7 (http://www.bartleby.com/40/0101.html#noteFN7)

Than longen folk to goon on pilgrimages,

And palmers for to seken straunge strondes, 8 (http://www.bartleby.com/40/0101.html#noteFN8)

To ferne halwes, 9 (http://www.bartleby.com/40/0101.html#noteFN9) couthe 10 (http://www.bartleby.com/40/0101.html#noteFN10) in sondry londes;

And specially, from every shires ende

Of Engelond, to Caunterbury they wende,

The holy blisful martir for to seke,

That hem hath holpen, whan that they were seke. 11 (http://www.bartleby.com/40/0101.html#noteFN11)

"What the hell was that?" exclaimed Sergio

"Nothing" replied Rango. "I was just trying to read some James Joyce "Finnagins Wake" out loud to pass the time.

"It didn't make any sense".

"It never does".

"I thought for a moment you were quoting Burroughs, from Naked Lunch"

"Nah....that stuff is boring. Joyce...now that's the stuff of legends...I mean, who else ever wrote a novel that was sheer gibberish, and found that the critics raved over it?"

"Well...this thread comes to mind. Ahh, forget it....Speaking of legends...we need to catch up with Hansomatic!"

And with that the scene changed again.

02-26-2013, 03:41 PM
Buck was excited. He had a purpose for the first time in 15 years. The last 2 BOC albums had sold only 18 copies, so he was desperate to make a few dollars. Bennett's offer of $10 bucks and expenses to Colorado was too good to be true.

Waiting at the airport, he picked up the NJ Star Ledger and turned to the sports section...the NY Mets had broken spring training, and Collin Cowgill was on the first page of the sports section, following his double, and slide into home plate in yesterday's exhibition game. He had been the hero of a losing team that was destined to finish in 4th place for the 5th year in a row.

Buck continued to read the article by sports columnist and Mets beat reporter Jorge Castillo.


He continued to read....

David Wright was quoted as saying "We need more Cowgill", riffing on an old Saturday Night Live routine. Within hours, it had become a social network trend. By the evening #MoreCowgill was continuing to gather steam.

Buck had a moment of clarity. He realized that more people were familiar with Blue Oyster Cult from Christopher Walken's routine than from their hey day in the '70's and '80's.

"Sure" he said to himself..."nothing about "Burnin' for you" or "Astronomy" ...just that dumb routine that corrupted my only top 10 hit".

Becoming increasingly agitated, he called Bennett from the airport.

"Hey...Bernard....did you hear about that "cowgill story?"

"It's Bennett....and do you mean that thing about "we need more Cowbell?"

"No...this is different....this is...."

Bennett interrupted. Buck had given him the germ of a sick joke.

"Hey Buck...what's the opposite of "Christopher Reed"? He asked.

"I don't know".

"It's Christopher WALKIN' of course!"

That was the final straw. Despondent, agitated, and with the voice of Christopher Walkin ringing in his ears, he ran into the nearest bathroom he shot himself in the head with the 22 he always carried around for protection.

It had been too much for one day. Bennett's plans would have to take a tangential turn at this point.

02-26-2013, 05:21 PM
Meanwhile, several thousand miles away, Ell Chefman was flying from an unpronounceable city in Eastern Europe to an undisclosed location somewhere in North America. The various factions were all coming together.

The stewardess served him his angelfish sandwich, which he had specifically requested when booking the flight.

He took a bite, washing it down with some Peach Snapple.

"By the sword of Odin!" he swore...only he said it in Yiddish, so it sounded quite different.

"This angel fish is "Trafe"...it's un-kosher!!" He screamed at the stewardess. He began taking to become increasingly agitated, and a foul stench began to emanate from his backside. At this point, it became quite obvious that this extremely elderly man was wearing undergarments of unusual bulk. And they were steaming.

"Ach, this is disgusting...I need to wash my mouth out with bleach" he continued to scream.

It took three stewardessess and a male flight attendant over 10 minutes to restrain him, with the help of the entire 3rd row of the speeding jet.

As the flight continued onward, Ell Chefman was speaking in tongues...incomprehensible to almost everyone. Except for those three individuals who were aware of his mission...or otherwise needed his services.

Chefman was restrained, but he didn't care. he knew the flight would be arriving soon...and when the plane landed, his contacts would ensure that he was released and that he had a kosher gefilite fish sandwich waiting for him.

02-26-2013, 05:38 PM
Doc..Maybe a copy of Finnegans wake taken by insufflation or in my case, "Parenternaly" will reveal Joyce's true message.

02-26-2013, 05:44 PM
Bennett woke up from falling asleep sitting up in his chair, his shirt covered with drool.

All that about Chefman and the airplane ride had been a dream.

"Darn it," said Bennett. I can no longer distinguish reality from fantasy!"

"You got that right," yelled Ginger, his more than patient wife. "Maybe when you REALLY wake up you'll get rid of all these freaking guitars because all you need is one of them, since you can't tell the difference between them!"

02-26-2013, 05:51 PM
Lena was feeling somewhat frisky, perhaps because she hadn't had sex in more than 70 years, ever since her husband had been killed in WWII while serving in the Romanian army as a general on the Eastern Front.

He'd been an ardent member of the Fascist Iron Guard, and an admirer of Hitler, and had been made a general for purely political reasons. He had no military background whatsoever. In fact, he had operated a bowling alley in Bucharest. As far as he was concerned, the Russian military was an agglomeration of bowling pins, and would be crushed by the Axis alliance. He was a popinjay in an overdone custom uniform, dripping medals he'd simply invented and had made. His men hated him.

Fortunately for the Russians he faced, he had been made a commander of artillery, and had no idea that he should try to camouflage or hide his guns in a forest. He'd never thought about being bombed. So a formation of Ilyushin Il-4 medium bombers destroyed his formation on the first day, killing him, and freeing Lena from a marriage that she'd grown to hate.

She was not alone; most of the Romanian generals who were involved with the Nazis were executed after the war as traitors. He'd have been killed along with Ion Antonescu had he survived the war.

"When was the last time you had a woman," asked Lena as she and Chefman were walking along the Praspekt Nezalezhnasci, the main drag in Minsk.

"You don't want to know," he answered.

"Well of course I do, that's why I asked," she replied. By now she had encircled his arm with hers.

"I don't remember," he said, absently. Actually, he did remember. But he didn't want to explain to Lena why he'd taken such a strong interest in threesomes with former ballet instructors who also had been olympic-gymnasts a few years before. Because he didn't know why. All he knew was that he had to have them. Nor could he explain the liaison with Shari Lewis and her hand puppet Lamb Chop that had consumed much of his passion in the late 1950s.

Shari had been cute, and he liked her, but he was crazy about the puppet.

"Do you know any ventriloquists who are also puppeteers?" he asked, hopefully, as they walked to the post office.

02-26-2013, 07:15 PM
Turbulence awoke Frank Bello just before landing at Denver International Airport. The name 'Zephirus' lingered in his consciousness. "That's the last time I eat airline sushi after reading The Canterberry Tales in the departure lounge," he thought to himself.

His text from Sergio instructed him to go to gate B7 and wait. Bello, Sergio and Rango would travel to Mantic's smithery together once the latter two arrived.

Bello was hoping for a solo spot in the back seat so as not to have to compare pedicures with Rango. Franks own stylish French nails whew chipping badly and he no longer wore sandles on stage with The Hendrixonators.

02-26-2013, 10:08 PM
Ell Cheffman woke up in an unlit room in an unnamed building in an undetermined part of an unpronouncable city after an untraceable journey. He felt unloved.

The door was unlocked. A light switch clicked and the room was undarkened. An undressed man put a 7 Up in front of him. The Un-Cola.

It was unopened.

The man left.

Ell was unfulfilled.

As his eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness, he realized if he squinted just right and tilted his head just left and clenched his middle butt cheek just so, the seemingly random scratches on the wall resolved into...were those words? Did they say what he thought they said?

They did.

02-26-2013, 10:45 PM
As his eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness, he realized if he squinted just right and tilted his head just left and clenched his middle butt cheek just so, the seemingly random scratches on the wall resolved into...were those words?.

Middle butt cheek? Who has more than two?

02-27-2013, 12:33 PM
It's been an amazing journey to date, chipped nails and all....but Bello has no regrets unlike others in this voyage. He's willing to take on Rango's abominations as he has done many times before. Bello is often asked if that is his real hair. No, is his honest response, the top is a bush.

The big plan is for the Hendrixonators to tour this year with NIN as their opening act. But don't ask for tickets if your passport is not up to date. The only tour dates are in Canterbury, UK.
The tour hinges on Zephirus, he is so lazy and never wants to practice, thinks he's the best bassist in the world because he figured out note-for note a few Jaco riffs. That's why Zephirus is always on Bello's mind...."I'm going to hurt that boy if he doesn't shape up" he was heard saying as he passed the Primo Pizza stand at the Denver International Airport. You know his mind is occupied to pass the Primo Pizza stand without stopping....straight to the shuttle with his Korean Made Custom 24 in hand. He looks down and suddenly realizes, geez I have to upgrade my PRS and get one of those Custom 24 with a 10 Top.

02-27-2013, 12:47 PM
"I don't know any ventriloquists," Lena replied to Chefman in a cafe after they'd picked up his package at the post office, "but I once worked at a Punch and Judy show with the puppets in around 1610. I could buy a puppet."

Chefman sipped his absinthe époque. "This woman must be really, really horny after 70 years," he thought to himself. The thought brought him slightly out of the haze induced by absinthe's "green fairy."

"Forget about the puppet," said Chefman, "You're so attractive you don't need a thing. Let's go unwrap this parcel, and talk about how we can work together to save the world."

"That's it? Just talk?" she replied, stroking his hand.

"Hmmm. Do you know how to do The Antler Dance?" he inquired.

"No. just The Macarena and the Mashed Potatoes," said Lena. "I once knew some Austrian folk dances..."

"The Antler Dance is even better. We'll need to go to iTunes and download some Lithuanian Dainas played on the accordion."

"What if they don't have any?"

"Then we will definitely need to find an accordion, because I can play if you can dance."

"You don't like to be with women, I mean, physically?"

"I love women. But playing the accordion is better than sex."

"No, it isn't," she said.

"Oh, but it is. If you want an argument, that will be five pounds," he said.

Lena didn't get the joke. She began to wonder if men simply lost interest after the age of 700.

02-27-2013, 09:13 PM
"Sir! Put your hands behind your back and put the cigarette down! This is a non-smoking airport!" Had Sergio been able to wait another three minutes and actually left the airport before lighting up, he would have skipped the tour of the secret TSA detainment center buried beneath Denver International.

"Sir, wait right here and we will get back to you in a few hours, we have a situation with another passenger we have to attend to." The TSA agent locked the electronic door behind him and took off the handcuffs that were ruining Sergio's "Livestrong" and "IBS Survivor" rubber bracelets. "Stay here! and don't move!"

As the TSA agent walked down the hallway Sergio heard a familiar voice call out: "SQUIRT?!... I must complete my mission! The Boob-o-sklavian Revolution of 1684 will seem like child's play if you don't release my belt and man-garters!"

"Ell! is that YOU?!" Sergio yelled out.

"Who's there? Are you a puppeteer per chance? Lena!........ uh...oh... ummmm....... Applesauce?"

Sergio got up and walked into the room where he presumed Ell was being detained in and just stood there... for like fourteen seconds longer than he should have before clearing his throat.

"Ah What 'cha doin' Ell?" Sergio wasn't a prude, nor was he terribly shy being an author of erotic fiction, but he had never seen a man perform a body cavity search on a CPR dummy before.

"Where are you hiding them Lena? Ell asked to the CPR dummy.

"Ell have you lost your mind? Get off that dummy!"

"What? Oh, hello Sergio, I'm sorry about that crazy bit but I thought for sure they would send Doc Oppraman to get me out. I pretend to go insane whenever my wife asks me to do something like mow the lawn, if there is one thing I have learned about women; just act crazier then them! Then they just leave you alone. Doc usually comes to get me, why are you here?"

"Hanso" Sergio replied.

"You must be looking for the one." Ell said under his breath, "Let's go."

"What about the TSA agents?" Sergio asked.

"Seriously?" said Ell, "I'm a Lawyer."

02-27-2013, 09:20 PM
The familiar absinthe "inebriation but with clarity" wore off, and Chefman was tired. He unwrapped the package and opened it. A beautiful PRS Starla was in the case; Lena gasped when he opened it.

"It's amazing looking," she said. "I thought you were an accordionist?"

"Oh, I am. But I also play the guitar. And this one was made special." He showed here how playing in B but thinking in Cb turned the instrument into a metal detector. "With this," he said, "We can go unnoticed anywhere, but still be prepared to dig." He went on to explain the mission and its purpose. Her eyes grew wider.

"This is very exciting," she purred. "Can I stay with you here in your room?"

"Did you find the Lithuanian Dainas on iTunes?"

"No, just some old Mikas Patrauskas stuff with an orchestra, and a chamber ensemble."

"Well, without an accordion...I mean, what's the point?"

"They have "Yes We Have No Bananas" played by an accordion band."

Chefman considered the possibility. "Let's hear it," he said.

Lena hit the player and the first few bars came out of the laptop, then the band began to sing the familiar refrain. 'Yes, we have no bananas, we have no bananas today," only in Polka style. Lena suddenly broke into the Macarena. Chefman was mesmerized by her mastery of the dance. Every move was perfect. And she looked unbelievably hot for her apparent age. The music stopped. Chefman felt his heartbeat quicken. He was somewhat smitten.

"I've gotta admit, Lena, you are something to behold."

"And to hold," she said. coming toward him.

"Not tonight," he said. "Tomorrow we search and we dig. We'll need our rest. Once we find what we need, and get the information in the right hands, we can worry about having some fun together."

Lena left in a huff and went to her room. "Him, I could shoot," she said to herself.

Chefman laid down to get some sleep, but the thought of Lena doing the Macarena to "Yes We Have No Bananas" inveigled on is mind. After a couple of hours, he decided to call her room. But there was no answer. "She must have found someone else," he thought, and went to sleep.

Meantime, Lena was bound and gagged in the back of a Mercedes speeding toward Kiev.

02-27-2013, 09:21 PM
And once again we have two posts conflicting in time and space. LOL!

How can Ell be two places at once when he's not anywhere at all? Stay tuned for Time Warp Central's explanation... ;)

02-27-2013, 10:48 PM
Ell woke up, and decided to call Lena to get started with the search for the place to dig. There was no answer in her room, so he showered, dressed, and put on the pith helmet he'd worn for various digs and treks ever since the Boer Wars when he had served in the British Regulars. The pitch helmet still looked great, a few stains, but not worn out. It's hard to ruin a good pitch helmet.

Then he went down to breakfast, but first stopped at the front desk of the hotel and rang the bell. A man in a manager's uniform appeared.

"May I help you?"

"Yes, I've been trying to reach Lena Berzanskis' room, but there seems to be no answer, Has she already come down to have breakfast?"

"No, she was in fact kidnapped last night by a group of men and shoved into a Mercedes-Benz," said the manager.

"What?" shouted Chefman. "This is terrible. Have you called the police?"

"No," said the manager.

"Well why the hell not," shouted Chefman. "A woman is kidnapped, dragged through the lobby of your hotel, shoved bodily into a car, and you don't call the police?"

"No," said the manager. "Nice pith helmet, sir. We don't see many of those any more."

"Why, thank you," said Chefman. "One always wants to be appropriately attired for a bit of the old exploration and hiking."

"It goes very well with the gig bag, backpack, and 1980s Banana Republic look you have going," replied the manager. "Have you spent any time in the tropics at all?"

"Yes, of course," came the reply. "I spent decades in the tropics serving with the...uh..well, serving in the military. And you?"

"Oh yes, I saw action in various revolutions we fomented all over Africa and South America when we were part of the USSR. In fact I had many diseases."

"Did you have...yellow fever?" asked Chefman.

"Yes, of course."


"Most definitely."



"Tsetse flies?"

"Um hummm."

"Dengue fever?"




"How about leprosy?"

"That, too."


"Yes," came the reply.

"Ha! Gotcha!" said Chefman. "Quince, Cydonia oblonga, is a fruit! It is the sole member of the genus Cydonia in the family Rosaceae. It is native to rocky slopes and woodland margins in south west Asia, Turkey and Iran. It is NOT a disease! You, sir, are a fraud."

He pounded his fist on the front desk. The manager looked frightened, but pulled out a gun.

"Yes," he said. "And you, my pith-helmeted friend, are going with me now to Kiev to join your lady friend."

"Wait a minute," Chefman replied. "I'm entitled to a buffet breakfast, and I will not leave here without one."

"OK, then. We will have breakfast together. Remember that my gun will be on you the entire time."

"Do you think they'll have eggs and sausages?" said Ell.

"Yes, the sausages are excellent. Also take note of our delicious schnecken cakes. In fact, take a few extra for the journey. I can have the staff box some up for you."

"That's more than kind of you," said Chefman. "I'm sure we'll enjoy the trip." Chefman made his way to the scrambled eggs and sausages steaming in their respective silver plated bins. He grabbed a plate, and loaded it up. But his mind was racing.

He was already thinking ahead to how delicious the schnecken would be after breakfast.

"Do you have any bagels," he asked.

"No sir, I'm sorry, we're openly anti-Semitic here now. No bagels."

"That's kind of a shame, isn't it?" Chefman asked.

"There aren't many Zhids left around here anyway," the man added. "It's been hard to find a decent bagel in Minsk ever since 1941."

Chefman didn't say anything. He'd been a medic with the Wehrmacht in 1941, and came through Minsk with Army Group South, until he managed another one of his disappearances later in the war, and wound up in Sweden. It had been the second army he'd had the misfortune of invading Russia with.

02-27-2013, 11:34 PM
As they left the hotel to head to the parking lot where the manager kept his car, Chefman was handed a small white cardboard box of cakes wrapped with a string. He was allowed to sit in the back of a Mercedes, his hands untied. The manager hadn't thought him much of a threat, since he appeared to be around 60, and the manager had found insulin and heart medications while searching the backpack.

Chefman couldn't help but notice how nice the interior of the Mercedes was, and how smoothly it handled, soaking up all the bumps on the road as they headed toward Kiev.

"Would you like a schnecken cake?" Chefman asked the manager after they'd been driving for about an hour.

"Oh yes, that would be nice, sir," said the manager. It was hard for him to get out of the habit of being nice to his hotel guests.

"Fine, I'll take one out for you." Ell untied the box, and reached between the front seats to hand the manager the food. As the manager reached out for it, Chefman quickly and adroitly grabbed the manager's gun and held it to his head.

"Gotcha," Ell said. "Pull over and get out of the car."

The manager complied.

"Lay on the ground over in that ditch."

The manager had no choice, thinking that Chefman was going to leave him in the middle of nowhere, but being glad for his life. But Ell shot him through the back of the skull, killing him instantly. He knew what this man was, and what the charade was about. And he was not about to take chances. The man was deadly. Now he was dead. He was an agent of LETSH. Leprechaun's Employees Trained to Serve in Hotels.

"A new Mercedes, and a kill, and I haven't even had lunch," Chefman said to himself. He popped the schnecken into his mouth. "It really is delicious." he said to himself, getting behind the wheel of the car. He started it, and headed toward Kiev, enjoying the sound of the engine's revs and the precise feel of the wheel as he negotiated the turns. He still had the map he'd bought from Lena.

Chefman was deadly, too. He'd learned his lessons well while posing as a medic in the Wehrmacht. In fact, he'd been a trained assassin for the Abwehr. And now he would use all of his skill to try to save humanity from the Leprechaun.

02-27-2013, 11:48 PM
Sergio was now hopelessly lost, he raised a gun to his head and pulled the trigger..... he was now dead.

]-[ @ n $ 0 |v| a T ! ©
02-28-2013, 12:01 AM
[womp, womp, womp, womp...]

Sergio sat up abruptly -- sweat dripping from his face as he grabbed his alarm click in disbelief. It was a dream.

A mouse farted.

02-28-2013, 06:55 AM
Sergio began to suspect that the man that he picked up in the airport was an imposter.

He realized this was the case as soon as they passed the "Nathans" concession as they were leaving the airport.

"Wait a moment" said the ersatz Chefman..."I need to pick up a few dogs and relish".

Sergio was immediataely aware of the charade. The real Ell would never eat anything but a Hebrew National hotdog. And, hold the relish.

Sergio had to stall for time.

"Give me a minute" he said, running to the men's room.

He tried calling Buck Dharma...but there was no answer. He felt silly as he kept hearing the ringback tone playing "Don't fear the Reaper".

No answer. "I'll call Opraman" he said to himself. "He'll know what to do".

Minutes later, in Bennett's basement, the phone rang. He didn't hear it. He was busy at his latest invention, wearing the Sennheiser headphones that he had intercepted in the mail, destined for Cheffman.

Sergio was alone in the bathroom, stalling for time. He realized that the fake Cheffman was waiting for him.

Hoping desperately to catch a break....he pulled out the secret phone he always carried but never used. It was a unique phone....dedicated to Cheffman...it could only call that number.... but he had been told never to use it unless it was an absolute emergency.

Hitting the send button, he waited for an answer as the ringback tone played an annoying Polka backed by several accordians.

Finally, the phone picked up.

"Yes??" said a familiar voice..."why are you using this phone.....what's going on?"

With that, the scene shifted to Cheffman.

02-28-2013, 07:02 AM
See...space time and character contradictions all resolved in one fell swoop!

02-28-2013, 07:22 AM
See...space time and character contradictions all resolved in one fell swoop!

and another introduced - Chefman had received and unwrapped the package in Minsk before could have Oppraman intercepted it....
we'll fix it somehow...

Sergio, don't bow out - who's gonna write Rango's dialogue? You have to get Sergio, Rango and Frank to Hands Mantic's house...

02-28-2013, 07:40 AM
and another introduced - Chefman had received and unwrapped the package in Minsk before could have Oppraman intercepted it....
we'll fix it somehow...

Sergio, don't bow out - who's gonna write Rango's dialogue? You have to get Sergio, Rango and Frank to Hands Mantic's house...

Sergio is back in....he's at the airport waiting for instruction!

When Chefman got the unwrapped package, he THOUGHT He was getting the Sennheisers. however, Opraman had intercepted them....and Chefman was unknowingly in possession of a special, substitute pair....whose diabolical attributes will be revealed later. Opraman had made sure to switch the pairs, so that when Chefman needed them most....well, that will be told in time.

Sergio's nightmare about shooting himself was actually dreamt while he was waiting in the airport for the man he thought to be Chefman to arrive. He woke up in the terminal, hating the fact that he had actually tried an Angelfish sandwich prior to falling asleep. Clearly, this type of "nutrition" was only edible for those individuals with either very strong stomachs, or who were so old that they could no longer digest food...it went straight from Chefman's mouth into his diaper.

So, to backtrack, Sergio eventually woke up from the dream, and picked up the man he thought to be his contact.

To be continued!

02-28-2013, 07:45 AM
Sergio is back in....he's at the airport waiting for instruction!

When Chefman got the unwrapped package, he THOUGHT He was getting the Sennheisers. however, Opraman had intercepted them....and Chefman was unknowingly in possession of a special, substitute pair....whose diabolical attributes will be revealed later. Opraman had made sure to switch the pairs, so that when Chefman needed them most....well, that will be told in time.

Sergio's nightmae about shooting himself was actually dreamt while he was waiting in the airport for the man he thought to be Chefman to arrive. He woke up in the terminal, hating the fact that he had actually tried an Angelfish sandwich prior to falling asleep. Clearly, this type of "nutrition" was only edible for those individuals with either very strong stomachs, or who were so old that they could no longer digest food...it went straight from Chefman's mouth into his diaper.

So, to backtrack, Sergio eventually woke up from the dream, and picked up the man he thought to be his contact.

To be continued!

well-played Oppraman..... Watch out, Chefman!

02-28-2013, 08:02 AM
While Sergio was in the men's room at the airport, the imposter quickly pulled out his secret transmitter. It was a direct-to-Oppraman signal and Bennett quickly recognized the coded message. The imposter was embedded, and about to embark with Sergio. Or so Bennett thought. Little did he know that the facade had been inadvertantly exposed, and that Sergio was taking retaliatory measures.

As the two "conversed" using the hi-tech communicator, Sergio was planning his next move.

Having made brief contact with Ell, and verifying that "the real Chefman" was still somewhere in Eastern Europe, about to begin his perilous journey, Sergio had to figure out what to do with the imposter.

Leaving the restroom, he was surprised to see the faker "talking" on what appeared to be a circa 1998 cell phone. It was stamped with the Logo of "Lucent Technologies". He also saw an Atari 2400 video game cartridge sticking out of the imposter's pocket. It was "Breakout".

"Damn" said Sergio to himself. "these guys have the latest technology available. Now I know what we're up against."

Upon seeing Sergio come out of the bathroom, the imposter quickly attempted to conceal his gadgets.

Maintaining the facade, he grabbed the imposter by his arm saying, "The car is waiting for us. Let's go....there's no time to waste".

He was still a bit nauseated from the residual effects of the Angelfish sandwich, but he knew what had to be done next. It was not going to be pretty.

02-28-2013, 08:07 AM
don't forget to take Rango and Bello....

02-28-2013, 08:10 AM
Doc Bill struggled to get the heavy wooden box out of the Jeep and into his basement studio back in Maryland. Les, the telepathic dog, looked on in amusement. Doc Bill caught Les's eye.

"You looking at me?"

"Les, don't just lie there licking yourself, either help me with this box or close the door."

"You wanna piece of me? C'mon doctor-boy, bring it!"

"Les, you simply must stop reading those letters from Hands. He's only baiting you because it's an ongoing practical joke with him. Ever since I started kidding him about his wallet woes, he's been sending you those inflammatory notes in those Beggin' Strips he send you."

"C'mon, punk. Yer yellow!"

"When this is over, Hands and I will have to have a long chat." Ruger thought to himself.

"Open this bag for me then. I don't have any thumbs."

Doc Bill opened the bag of Beggin' Strips and gave one to Les, patting him carefully on the head.

Seeing that Doc was not rising to the bait, Les got up and dutifully closed the door to the studio. He went back and laid down next to the Roland electronic drum kit and dozed off.

Rugged opened the box carefully. Inside he saw that the 12 guitars were still stored safely in their individual chinchilla fur lined slots. Looking them over, he pulled out first the 12 string and then the 513. In a little recess under the 513 he found what he was really after, a stash of green-tipped, penetrator, incendiary, highly explosive, tracer .357 Sig rounds given to him by Tony McManus after the last Leprechaun Wars. Each projectile was capable of piercing a pot-o-goldtops and blowing a hole in the leprechaun behind a yard wide, a yard deep and setting it on fire.

Ruger stripped and then re-loaded the magazines for his ported and compensated Glock31C carry gun. He grabbed his backpack and gig bag and headed for Stevensville.

02-28-2013, 11:20 AM
Chefman was slightly lost, despite his military experience of hundreds of years. Not only had he missed a turn, he also couldn't figure out what was going on in the story. "Props to Bennett for fixing the time anomaly thing," he said, "But the package wasn't earphones, it was a guitar. Which I received at the post office in Minsk. And my character was eating pork sausages in Minsk while it was claimed I'd only eat Hebrew National in NY. My character isn't kosher, and not only that, my character is from Constantinople where he was born in the 11th century, and was originally of Roman origin."

He placed a call to Sergio and Bennett, and conferenced them in on his iPhone:

"Look, I have to rescue the woman, finish the work in Minsk, find the information from the map at the Lida Castle, and THEN report back with the information needed to save the world. There's a lot left to do, so please let that happen first before you screw up the rest of this part of the novel by having me gallivant all over creation. Plus that author known as LSchefman does a lot of background research into the places I visit and the stuff I do, and it takes him a while to finish his posts, plus he edits them after he posts them to make corrections and additions. So there's that. You're just going to have to let that part of the story of my character develop for a while. Plus there's the whole question of whether I will sleep with Lena. None of you play the accordion, and I need one to get the sleep-over business done. So don't be a buttinsky."

With that, he hung up the phone. "Authors!" he thought to himself. "Guitar-playing authors who've never even savored the heady aroma of the air being pushed out of the bellows and through the handmade wooden intersteces and reeds of an accordion up close! They, who have not lived history as I have! As if they are in a position to write about me! Sennheiser headphones, indeed. And from 1980. Impossible. I only use the latest Ultrasones and Beyers. OK, AKGs in a pinch."

Being in The Ukraine again after 70 years reminded him of his time in the Wehrmacht. He cursed in German. All he could think of was what a mess Hitler and Napoleon had made out of two perfectly serviceable wars by invading Russia.

Chefman then found the point on the map where he'd taken a turn onto the wrong road, and headed the big Mercedes toward Kiev.

02-28-2013, 11:43 AM
As Chefman continued his drive, he bit into various h'ors d'overes he had made sure to pack with him.

The angelfish sandwich was particularly tasty. The pork sausages reminded him of the various body parts he had come across as he traveled through the Rhine, into Germany during WW2. He even passed the village of Oppenheim, he recalled....smiling as it made him think of that crazy guy, Opraman, who he always enjoyed when watching SNL.

His big red mercedes that he had "appropriated" after killing the former occupant was his way of telling the world, "I don't hold grudges" and that he would drive a nazi sled long before he would accept a ride in a Honda Element. Even if it meant murder and mayhem to get it. Especially if it meant murder and mayhem!!

Suddenly, a police car loomed in his rear view mirror. At first, he thought that the officer might have seen him sipping his Absinsthe as he was driving...a practice only legal in Rhode Island and Scandanavia. However, as the vehicle inched closer, he realized that it was not an official police car at all...it appeared to be a Plymouth Volare, circa 1978....he immediately realized that those were the "official fleet cars" of the Leprechaun's army, and that he was being tailed.

He knew what to do!

02-28-2013, 11:58 AM
Contributing authors, please see the edit in the original post.

02-28-2013, 12:29 PM
It's all good, guys, nothing to be upset over, but I've been researching all the places, street names, hotels, background stuff, rumanian generals; the lists of pows from the napoleonic invasion of russia is really in that library, as is the list of deceased french prisoners, the castle in Lida, the itinerary of Army Group South, English Regulars, etc., etc., etc., has all been worded for historical accuracy as best as I can do the research quickly. Yes, I'm trying to be funny, too, but I think the history part of it is interesting, especially for me as I go through the exercise of working with it.

So it's kind of going to waste if that end of the story gets messed with, as all of these elements are planned to come together.

I realize part of the fun of the exercise is the collaboration, but I'm enjoying making the history part relevant. So I'd like to keep it interesting that way. It adds to the enjoyment (for me).

02-28-2013, 12:56 PM
Bennett aimed the metrosexual ray at the voodo doll and pulled the trigger. In London, a third engineer was trying hard to concentrate on the master tracks for the Stone's latest efforts laid down last night. There was quite a buzz in the Abby Road studios with the rapid deaths of two of it's engineers recently. They had both seemed in good health, and their deaths were both sudden and unexpected.

As he sat at his console trying to get the 'wrinkles' out of Keith Richards' playing, the engineer had a sudden urge to get a pedicure and eat a cucumber sandwich. As his mind drifted into unisex colognes and clogs, he noticed that he could no longer feel his legs. Alarmed, he looked down as a numbness rose in his back. His breathing stopped and his vision went black and he died.

"Just the same way we used to pith frogs in science class," grinned Bennett as he removed the knitting needle from the base of the doll's skull.

"There is so much to do. I need to expand my ring of familiars."

02-28-2013, 01:14 PM
Russia, Poland, Minsk? I'm (Bello) just trying to get to Canterbury, UK!

02-28-2013, 04:48 PM
Opraman was driving home from his tri-weekly therapy appointment. As usual, his therapist had been very astute and had made some excellent interpretations. The Dr-patient relationship was excellent, and Bennett had established rapport with his therapist almost immediately. It was a bit ironic, as Opraman had chosen his therapist merely for the fact that they happened to have very similar names. They had the same first name, and a similar last name. In skimming the Yellow Pages, Opraman immediately saw the coincidental similarity and thought that it must be a message from above. AS his therapist had pointed out, again and again…this was just a transferential reaction….the nearly identical names helped Bennett to establish a sense of familiarity and trust. As a consequence, the therapy sped along without some of the usual resistance.
On the other hand, his therapist had his own counter-transferential reaction to his client. He was disgusted by Opraman’s severe personality disorder. He found Bennett’s values to be contemptible. There wasn’t a redeeming feature of his client that he could draw solace from. He dreaded each appointment, and would secretly pop a couple Percocet about 30 minutes before Opraman was scheduled to arrive. That way, by the time his client was sitting on the leather chair and whining and moaning about this and that, he’d have a sufficient buzz to be able to tolerate him….barely. the only reason he took Opraman on as a client was that he needed the patients. Ever since that newspaper article had linked him to the underage “mandatory therapy ring” that was snatching young teenage prostitutes off the streets and deprogramming them and returning them home safe and sound….he was getting anonymous calls at 3 AM telling him he was a pervert, and sometimes even had rocks thrown threw his office window.
So, the only solution was to see Opraman three times a week, at $185 per visit…$450 if he paid cash and for all three sessions at once.

Opraman mused about today’s session. He had been seeing his therapist for several years…ever since his last shred of conscience plagued him sufficiently with regard to his nefarious deeds. Killing engineers with voodoo….using his advanced technology to change men’s sexual orientation…establishing a formula for cloning leprechauns in the image and with the brains of the master Leprechaun of all….Red Raman…..was his joy and his pleasure. He loved creating chaos. He enjoyed using his superior intellect to develop schemes to control others. His favorite movie character was Dr. Evil, and he tried to emulate that persona whenever possible.
The therapy was a means to ventilate. His only opportunity to let some of his inner stress and angst be relieved. However, he knew he could never be honest with his doctor. He knew that based on the “Tarasoff precedent…duty to warn” the moment his true objectives were known…he’d be locked up and facing life in prison at best…and execution as a more likely alternative.
So, his used his therapy as a façade, and created situations to discuss. He would imagine a scenario, then tell it to the therapist as if it really happened.

Today, he spent the session describing in detail how he had imagined an elderly man, who was incontinent and suffered from encopresis, who was having a fit in an airplane. He described how this man, of apparent Eastern European extraction became agitated to the point of near insanity due to the fact that his angelfish sandwich was not kosher.

“So, said the doctor…”what does “angelfish” mean to you?”
“I’m not sure” replied Opraman.
“How about Kosher dietary laws…signify anything?”

“Not a thing Doc. My favorite food is a pulled pork sandwich washed down with a nice glass of milk”.
“Hmm…have you discussed this with your wife at all? The concept of the elderly man who shat himself and had a fit? Anyone you know?”

“I’m not sure Doc…I’ll have to think about it some more”.

“You do that. See you in two days. Pay the girl on your way out. Cash please. 10’s and 20’s if you have them…nothing large. Bye Bye”.

Opraman was almost home. He was already thinking about what he would make up for the next therapy session. However, the opportunity to run down into the basement and continue his work on the Leprechaun cloning project was irresistible. Without even at glance at his loving and, patient wife (who continued to hope and pray that his attraction to the basement and this incessant “playing with himself” would lose interest) he ran downstairs to pull out his equipment.

Back at his therapist’s office, the Percocet was wearing off and Dr. O was vomiting into the little airplane bag he always carried with him.
“Next!” he shouted to his secretary, as he pulled Lindsey Lohan’s chart and reviewed yesterday’s notes. “Hmm” he was thinking….”Maybe I can get her to come twice a day”.

02-28-2013, 07:56 PM
Middle butt cheek? Who has more than two?

The guy on the right.

02-28-2013, 07:59 PM
Red Ramen looked out the car window somewhat dejectedly. He couldn't help but feel somewhat...neglected. As though the universe had forgotten about him.

As though no one had any interest in him any longer.

"What's wrong, Red Not Ramen Noodles?"

Suddenly, Ramen longed for the dejected feeling he'd had five seconds earlier.

A mouse sharted.

03-01-2013, 08:28 PM
Traffic from Minsk to the Ukraine was light, except that the occasional heavily loaded trucks slowed him down. After crossing into the Ukraine, Chefman stopped at Chernihiv for gas. He remembered that Chernihiv is one of the oldest cities in the Ukraine, and was the subject of a treaty with his own Byzantine Romani in the early 10th Century. At the time, it was populated by Vikings, who were known as the Rus. During the war he had visited a famous Viking burial mound called The Black Grave along with some of his wartime comrades. As far as the Germans were concerned, the fact that Vikings had occupied the area meant that it should naturally become part of their state, since they regarded themselves as Nordic. He was interested in the fact that certain of the grave goods were discovered to have been Byzantine.

Once the car was filled, he drove the 100 kilometers to Kiev, uneventfully. He had no idea where to start looking for Lena, but he guessed that the older part of the city on the West bank of the Dnieper would be a good place to poke around and ask questions. He parked the car near Maidan Nezalezhnosti (Independence Square), and got out for a look around. After a while, he decided to check into the Premier Palace Hotel in the old city, on Shevchenka Boulevard. He liked old hotels that had been restored. It would also be smart to have the car parked in a hotel garage instead of where it could be seen on the street by watchful police.

After checking in, he took a seat at the lobby bar, ordered a kvas with turnip juice, and watched the guests and staff come and go. He'd learned over the centuries to spot the ones who might help him find something for some cash "under the table."

He didn't have to wait long. A hotel manager was walking toward him, with two bellmen in tow. And he bore the distinctive sign of a man from LETSH: a tiny "L" tattooed on his left ear lobe. Chefman had seen it on the man he'd eliminated in Belarus. Things were getting interesting.

03-02-2013, 01:23 AM
"Ugh, I swear that's the last time I have peyote." Sergio said, " It tastes like a cat took a dump in my mouth."

"Believe me, it smells that way too." Frank replied; "I don't know what to say to you lil half-brother, you've been through rehab four times already. I didn't think it could get any worse than the time you accosted Dr. Drew and yelled at him for discontinuing rotary switches and winged tuners while wearing a bunny suit."

"What!?" Rango asked from the front seat of their rental car.

"Molotov! Bah-rew gatta moo-no rah!...." Sergio was still a bit..... well.. supremely wasted.

"He means Doc Oppraman's daughter's wedding Rango. He was invited just after "50 Shades of Blanc" got published, he was still doing the book circuit tour and met Doc in the hotel lobby that his daughter's wedding was being held in.... Two hours and a champagne fountain later TMZ and the police showed up... it was on CNN." Frank explained.

"Missed that." Rango replied; "We better get him a shower and some food, there's a Westin Inn at the next exit. I have a Groupon."

03-02-2013, 01:24 AM
As the manager approached, he suddenly gave Ell a strange look. Chefman noticed something, he hadn't seen before; this man was in his early eighties; and Ell studied his face. He had become something of an expert at facial aging, and he felt something. "I know this man," he thought. "I have seen this face before."

The manager now had an utterly shocked expression on his face, as if he'd seen a ghost. He sent the two bellmen away, and approached Ell. It was as if he didn't know what to do, or what to say. He simply stared, mouth agape.

"Guten Tag, Bodashka, ist es herrlich ist es nicht?" said Ell in perfect Prussian-accented German. He knew the man all right; as a youth, Bodashka had been one of his Ukranian informers. The words stopped the man in his tracks. All the blood drained from Bodashka's florid face. He felt dizzy, as if he were about to pass out. All he could manage was a word.


"Oh, I take good care of myself, Bodashka. Plenty of exercise and fresh air. Aren't you happy to see me after all these years? I'm very happy to see you, my old kamerad."

He slapped the man on the back. The man's knees buckled a little.

"Let's sit and have a drink together. Here, I'll pour you some kvas. Do you like it with turnip juice or with honey?"

The man took the glass, his hand shaking, and gulped some of the bready beverage. "Hauptmann Engel..."

Chefman laughed. "Shhh, Bodashka, my name is Chefman now. I'm an American now."

Bodashka nodded slowly. If anyone found out about his wartime activities, he would be ruined, jailed, and maybe executed. He didn't know what to do. He looked with terror at Chefman. How had this...ghost...aged so little? He should be a corpse by now.

"I need your help, Bodashka. I'm looking for a friend. If you help me, I will say nothing about our past, and I will pay you well. But if you turn on me, you are a dead man. Do you understand?"

The man nodded, his mind racing. "That car you came in, Herr Hauptmann, that is a lot like my friend Karinsky's car."

"That's because it is Mr. Karinsky's car, Bodashka. I am borrowing it from him."


"Yes, I am borrowing it. Mr. Karinsky doesn't need it right now. He's resting."

The man's eyes opened wider. "What do you want me to do, Herr...Mr...Chefman?" he asked, still in shock.

"I'm looking for a woman. Maybe you know her." Chefman took out his iPhone and showed Bodashka a picture he'd taken of Lena. The old man started to shake visibly.

"Bingo," thought Chefman.

03-02-2013, 02:30 AM
"Red?.... Grande-Green Tea- Frappuccino- with Raspberry.... Is there a RED HERE?" The barista in the Starbucks around the corner from Red's lair yelled; "Red? Hello? Your drink is ready. Who's the troll that ordered the green Frap?!"

Just then there was a scream from the women's bathroom. Red had been caught gnawing his way through Traci's (the soccer-mom who only worked there to escape her children and husband) head, after she interrupted his daily grooming that he did at Starbucks ever since Ratchet was not around to clean his bathroom anymore.

"I'm not a troll, I'm a leprechaun! What are you a fuggin' Smurf? What's up with that beanie?!" Red grabbed his Frap and the barista in each hand and poured them both down his rotting throat, he picked his teeth with the barista's ponytail and let out an enormous burp: "BBbbbbllllUUurrrggghttt!!!!" The sound shattered windows all down the strip mall, children cried for their mothers and car alarms echoed for miles.

CNN later reported the casualty numbers for the past week: Dead- 305. Injured-513. Days until Green Tea Frappuccino supply's are replenished-408... Kardashian's?... Still tramps.

03-02-2013, 09:17 AM
"Bodashka, why are you still working now that you are what, in your eighties?"

"Hauptmann Eng..er..Mr. Chefman, I have managed this hotel for nearly 40 years. It is my life's work. And, well, I have a younger wife who likes to shop..."

"And you are working on the side for the Leprechaun, I see."

"She likes to shop. What can I do? If I don't buy, she leaves me for someone closer to her age."

"Bodashka, I will pay $100,000 US for the woman whose picture I showed you. A wire transfer into your bank account. Or a paypal transfer, though you will have to pay your own fees. You paypal, you pay fees."

"Hauptmann, I would love to help you, and for that I can give you information as to where they are keeping her."

"No, Bodashka. I'm not James Bond who breaks into hideouts or headquarters and rescues kidnapped women. $150,000 US, and you bring her to me. Here. Within 24 hours. Tell them the Leprechaun wants her here. Tell them whatever is believable. But bring the woman to me. Alone. No tricks. If anything happens to me, my people in Berlin release secret documents that I gave them regarding your past activities on behalf of the Nazis. Do we have a deal?"

He winged the business about the secret documents. It was a bluff.

Bodashka thought for a minute, as he drained his glass. He had little choice, and he needed the money. He figured if Chefman was still alive, anything was possible, and didn't doubt the existence of secret documents implicating him as a traitor.

"I will bring her," he replied. "I will need a little advance. A show of good faith."

"Give me your information. You will have $20,000 in an hour. Remember, no tricks. If there are tricks, you will suffer the consequences."

Bodashka wrote his information on a hotel note pad, and slipped it to Chefman.

"Thank you, Mr. Chefman," Bodashka said loudly. I hope that I have been of service to you. I will have the parcel delivered to your room this evening around ten PM. Is there anything else we can do for you to make your stay more enjoyable?"

"Thank you, no. I appreciate your efforts." He gave the old man a wink. Then he went to his room with his backpack and gig bag, took out his laptop, and initiated the paypal transfer to Bodashka's account.

An 800 year old man who has worked and invested for that long accumulates a fair amount of wealth without being a financial genius. It would be an expensive date, but it would not break the bank. And the world needed to be saved in order for him to enjoy the next few hundred years. He set the alarm on his iPhone to 8:30, and laid down for a nap.

03-02-2013, 09:49 AM
Opraman's therapist tried to place a call to several individual's whom he was fairly certain were targets.. he had reviewed the notes from the past few sessions. Despite being totally stoned for each session (in a feeble attempt to cope with Opraman's ravings) he still took coherent notes. And a pattern was forming. something about a fixation on Leprechauns, and something about a vendetta towards a very old man who was occasionally incontinent.

He called 3 different people....a fellow named Sergio...who promptly hung up on him. Then it was Rango's turn to curse into the earpiece and hang up. Finally, the therapist decided to call a guitar dealer in Nevada by the name of Red. The name had come up too many times. He had to warn someone that Opraman was dangerous.

The phone was ringing....the ringback tone was a recording of the "Lucky Charms" jingle. Suddenly, the therapist keeled over, blood dripping from his nostrils, and face an ashen grey...he had stopped breathing.

30 miles away, in his underground refuge...his "man cave"...Opraman slowly withdrew the needle from the therapist voodoo doll.

"Hated to do it" he said to himself. "But he was getting to close". He grinned to himself...he had killed two birds with one stone....he had given his therapist a post dated check the day before instead of cash...and now he would stop the check and avoid paying for the last few sessions.

30 miles away, Red's chief Leprechaun finally picked up the still ringing phone. But, there was no one on the other end. He hung up.

The phone rang again. He picked it up on the first ring this time. It was Opraman.

"The time has come" he heard Opraman say.

"Gather your forces....Ell Chefman and Hanzi Hanzomatic must be stopped before they form a union too powerful for us to overcome."

Opraman hung up the phone,. The master plan was coalescing.

30 miles away, Lindsey Lohan kept knocking on the therapist's door, but there was no answer.

"Damn," she said to herself, "If I'm late, he'll call it resisting. When I'm early he says I'm trying to please him. When I'm on time he says I'm being obsessive. I love this guy! Maybe he'll see me 3 times a day if I ask".

She didn't realize that she had had her last therapy session several hours before.

03-03-2013, 02:18 AM
"Hans!! There are two guys at the front door looking for you. I don't have to tell you how sick of this s#!t I am, why do people keep showing up here!? I thought we already had this discussion, no more "guitar" dudes unless you ask me first. They better not be here to sell you anything, and don't lie to me and tell me it was a "trade". I'm not falling for that anymore, how would you feel if I had as many high heels as you do guitars?" [Beep. censored for privacy] asked the man known in some circles as Hattori Handsomatic.

Hans couldn't answer that openly, he would love it if his wife had an expensive habit that could justify his guitar budget AND satisfy his maturing taste in women's formal wear; " Look! I don't know why these guys think I know everything about everything, I don't even know who they are! I'll get rid of them right now!" Hans stormed off, down the hallway, across the bridge of the Koi pond in their foyer, and answered the door. "What?!" He asked the two gentleman.

"Pleasure to meet you, my name is Rango and this is Frank. We came hear to ask you about the whole "One Guitar" myth. You see, the leprechaun hath returned."

"Hath returned?" mocked Hans.

"Hath returned." Frank replied, dead serious.

"Right. Well thanks a lot for dropping by, it's always great to find out random people can just stop by.... How did you know where to find my home? Google maps?" Hans asked sarcastically.

"Hey we are not just random people." Rango said; "This here is Frankie Bello...."

Hans cut him off; "From Anthrax? I F$$kin' love Anthrax!"

Frank and Rango looked at each other until Frank replied; "Uh... um... Yeah?! I'm totally from Anthrax. In fact Scott Ian gave me your address, you guys met at a S.O.D. show or something?"

"Totally! I can't believe he remembered that, I was like... seventeen! I don't recall giving him my address... but.. Come on in!"

Hans lead the men in through the foyer and into his music room; "Have a seat. All I can tell you is this..........."

03-03-2013, 03:22 AM
"........... there is a legend.

The legend says that in order to defeat the leprechaun, you must posses the first Custom 24 that Paul used to get investors for the company. It was the guitar that actually mesmerized these investors for you see the investors were also leprechauns, after all what are leprechauns but hoarding troll people with the shrewdness to finance a venture as opulent as PRS?

Before you ask me where to find this guitar let me tell you that it has been "officially" listed as stolen...... Like it doesn't even exist. Here, this is a picture from an obscure Dave Burrluck scripture I bought from Amazon. com

However, there are some tales that speak of the "One" as not being stolen but rather safeguarded. Three men are supposed to hold the "key" to the location of the "One" , they are called: "De Tree Cola Bredren" defenders of the faith."

"Uh, that isn't much of a legend" Rango said; " It just sounds like we have to acquire more guitars, what else is new?"

"Exactly!" Hans blurted out: "Don't you ever wonder why you always want a new guitar? It isn't because you are a horrible materialist! It's because our ancestors passed down this trait in ritual to defend us from the evil leprechauns!! IN OUR DNA! IT"S THERE!"

Rango looked at Hans like he was that dude from "Ancient Aliens", you know, the one with the crazy eyes and jacked up hair. To his immediate right Rango noticed Frank had the same look on his face, it was like gun fever mixed with bird flu; not exactly a real illness until you visualized it enough to make it a tangible thing like in "The Secret".

"I have a yellowish-green Siggy in the trunk of the car I'll trade you for this Glittered Starla!" Frank spazzed out and yelled to Hans.

"What about finding the three "Bredren"? Isn't that more important right now?!" Rango exclaimed.

"Deal! No give backs!" Hans said in the direction of Frank.

"G@d D@mnit! Hans!" the voice of [Beep. censored for privacy] yelled down the hallway; "Your daughter is playing Polly Pocket's with some fruitcake in the backyard! You better have this taken care of before I get back from yoga, and Nooo I'm not wearing the tight yoga pants, so skip the amorous routine and ditch these weirdos! Dinner by six and then my Bravo! shows start at seven, and then we can look through the Crate & Barrel catalog for a housewarming present for my cousin Lisa. Oh, we are meeting with Hunter and Brooke tomorrow morning for the Farmer's Market, so lets get to bed early.... and please do something about that guy in the backyard after you take out the trash."

"Polly Pocket? Fruitcake! Backyard, Trash?!!" Hans was worried now.

"Relax." Rango said; "It's just Sergio."

"Oh, all right. Hey would you mind helping me with the trash Frank?"

"Sure, it's on the way to the car" Frank said... "No take backs."

03-03-2013, 08:49 AM
Sergio, you missed your calling. This is great stuff.

03-03-2013, 08:57 AM
Sergio, you missed your calling. This is great stuff.

From somewhere still in Eastern Europe, Ell Chefman spoke 9 words into his transmitter....they were..."Sergio, you missed your calling. This is great stuff".

This was the secret code that activated the devices at his disposal. The forces were gathering towards an apocalyptic conclusion. these 9 words were the codes that would ensure the denouement of a certain madman in NJ who had a penchant for bad furnishings and outdated decor.

In his basement "laboratory", Opraman barely felt the incendiary blasts. In a moment, the house was engulfed in flames. Walking the dog, Ginger could see the house folding in upon itself, with no signs of life.

"What's the name of that guy on Facebook who keeps asking to be my friend?" She thought to herself, without missing a beat.

"Arf!" said Wayne, the Airedale happily. No more time spent watching Opraman in the basement, waiting in vain for a cookie or biscuit.

03-03-2013, 04:04 PM
Hans watched the guys pull away. Their departure was more emotional than he'd expected. Well, not so much the departure - it was really the sudden end of Polly Pocket in the backyard. The tears, the wails of despair, the pleas of "Please Daddy, just a little longer!" His daughter's tears always touched him - that Sergio's did was a surprise, especially since his daughter had given Hans that "please - get me out of here" look that he knew so well from his favorite guitar store. And that other guitar store. And the one just around the corner from that, and the one in the next town.

The phone rang. Hans answered with a half-choked "Hello?"

The voice on the other end said, "Is [Beep. censored for privacy] available?"

Hans said, "No - she just left for yoga. Can I take a message?"

The voice said, "No, thank you. I'll just give her a call later."

Hans paused, then said, "Paul? Is that you? Paul Reed Smith?"

Paul just sighed. "Look, Hans, really - I don't want to talk. I promised [Beep. censored for privacy] - please, ask her to change her name. It hurts my throat every time I have to pronounce those stupid brackets! Anyway, I promised her I'd call her periodically to check on you, but only on the condition that I didn't have to actually talk to you. Especially when I don't have any more rare prototypes left for you to lust over. By the way, your dog's about to knock over the glass of Scotch you left in the dining room."

Hans heard the click as the call ended, followed almost immediately by the crash of the glass in the dining room, followed by the sounds of the dog lapping up a rare 127-year-old Scotch.

03-04-2013, 01:31 AM
"See that's the thing, Bratz teach little girls to be total sluts, whereas Polly Pockets teach children to fit in to mainstream society!" Sergio yelled from the backseat; " There is no middle ground! Where is the....."

"That's it! I can't f#@king stand this anymore!!! I was cool with the pedicure, the appletini, and I didn't say s#!t when you shaved your legs in the hotel bathroom before it was my turn to shower, but I've had enough!" The vein in Rango's forehead was pulsing like it was in a cartoon, Frank had been around many people who had succumbed to the "Breakdown" stage of hanging out with Sergio for a few days and knew that the first step to combat it was to first get the victim some food, and second distract Sergio with something else.

"Hey! Look! There is actually a Bennigan's at the next exit. Why don't we pull over for some food?" Frank suggested. "Sergio, you want some fried cheese?"

As the men walked to the front door of "America's Favorite Forgotten Irish Chain Pub" ( that's what Bennigan's marketing department had chosen as their new tag line) Sergio continued on a similar, yet different rant; " How come the irish don't have a good potato recipe? I mean the French do, the Italians do, Mexico, Indians do, even America has french fries! You would think that a culture that would have gone extinct if not for potato's would have come up with something better than boiling those f@#ker's and flavoring them with lawn clippings!"

Frank whispered into the hostesses ear, they were lead to a table in the corner, seated, and Frank was handed a remote control for the big screen TV right across from where Sergio was seated. "I'll never get sports! I mean I could understand it if you were watching them for the cheerleaders! Why is the Lingerie Bowl only a half hour? I think the Super Bowl should be at halftime and....." Sergio trailed off when Frank changed the channel to "Project Runway"... "Okay we will have two Guinness, anything alcoholic that comes in a empty pineapple with a parasol, two steaks- medium rare, and some fried cheese. Thanks!" Frank said to the waitress and then turned to Rango; "This should buy us an hour or so."

The steak and stout leveled Rango's testosterone to a point he had not felt in days as Frank knew it would, Sergio got up and left the table after his second fruity pineapple drink and disappeared through a door marked "Staff Only" leaving the two men to get down to business.

"What are we supposed to do?" asked Rango; " It seemed somewhat do-able to find "The One" guitar, but now we have to find another one from the "Tree Cola Bredren"? What does that even mean?!"

" It must be some sort of riddle... maybe it has something to do with the wood it's made out of?" replied Frank.

"Ah, the Cola tree." Rango said back while having a knowing expression on his face; "Must be illegal, or at the very least rare!"

"Right!" said Frank; "We should contact this Arborist I know, He will have the answe...."

Just then Sergio returned to the table with the hostess, her hair was disheveled and the back of her dress was tucked into her pantyhose, while she didn't look extremely happy.. Sergio was grinning from ear to ear. "So what are you guys talkin' about?" Sergio asked. He then fake-typed something into his brand new iPhone, (presumably the hostesses phone number). Sergio kissed the phone in a way that "Larry" from the television show"Three's Company" would have if cell phones were a regular sight at the "Regal Beagle" and nodded at the young girl meaning he had saved her number.

Rango knew this was a farce, he had received the same text message in duplicate from Sergio for the past four days, every hour on the hour, the man was hopeless when it came to cellular technology; "We figured out what Hans meant! The "Tree Cola Bredren" is a species of tree that "The One" is made from! All we have to do is get a MODCAT number and the dealer info and we can send that damn leprechaun back to whence he came!!!!"

"Whence?" asked Sergio.

"W-W-Whence?!" stammered Frank.

"Shut up! You know, WHERE, or, THE PLACE from where Red came." Rango looked rather pleased with his theory.

"Ha! Ha! Ha!" Sergio laughed and was kinda' acting like a d!ck; "Tree Cola Bredren!?! Ah...Ha! Ha! A TREE!!! Ah Ha! HA!...."

"So help me I'm gonna smack you out of that Pink Fog you've been floatin' in faster than you can say BMW!" Rango turned red in the face and was about to give Sergio the beat down of a lifetime; "DIE FRUITCAKE!!!"

Frank grabbed Rango by the shoulders and sat him back down; "CHILL RANGO! Get a hold of yourself man! We shouldn't be fighting each other... the enemy is out there man... out there!"

"Sorry... you're right." Rango acknowledged his anger and retreated to a calm place in his mind; "What do you think it means?"

"I'll tell you" Sergio said; "It's in a form of dialect that can only be described as "Colorastian" a backwards form of Jamaican Patois that has been bastardized by caucasian dudes, it means: The Three Color Brethren. I'm pretty sure it has to do with the three Custom 24's that PRS supposedly made for Carlos Santana in the nineties."

"They must be the keys to "The One"! Who knows where we can find them!?" Frank asked.

"Oh, I got that." replied Sergio; " I have been stalking those guys for like, two years. They won't give 'em up though.... it's like the Knights of the Round Table or some s#!t... kinda' makes sense now.... I got their names and address from Google maps, I can set the GPS."

Rango swiped the iPhone from Sergio's hand: "I'll take that. I don't want to get lost on the way there because you accidentally redirected us to a Forever 21 that was having a sale in Iowa.... Oh and Miss? May I have the check please? Yes, and um, I have a Groupon?.... Yes I realize it's expired.. may I please talk to your manager? I'm sure we can work something out....."

03-05-2013, 03:36 AM
Back at his lair....

Red was enjoying Kentucky Fried Chicken biscuits and Zimas... many, many, biscuits and Zimas. Red was on a conference call with two men who could either be his masters or his minions, only time will tell which they will be....

"Yeah! Snarf snarf, I think things are going quite well if you ask me! You gentlemen did a fine job with the whole Hamer and Guild dissolution, and Henr.. er, I mean Orville, Steinberger and Kramer are NEVER coming back! Snarf snarf... All we have to do is continue to steal their endorsers and get them playing "Quicklead" guitars and we can force a merger." Red nearly regurgitated biscuit juice on the phone as he said this.

"The marketing boys are keen on starting another campaign against them, if we can shake their consumer base they may have no other course of action but to sell." The man referred to only as "Leo" said.

"But to whom?" Henr..er, um.. Orville said; "We have just as much a right to this takeover as anyone else! You think it's easy to run coffee shops and pay off Uncle Sam at the same time? Manufacturing a "flood" to distract consumers of our OEM practice has resulted in insane profits!! Why else would we try to dupe the IRS with the "Firebird X"?! Do you think we were stupid enough to believe anyone would buy such a thing? NO! This is business and REVENGE! I'm not gonna be made a fool of in front of the Supreme Court three times..."

"To whom?" The man identified as "Leo" said.

"Snarf... To Whom?" Red asked.

"Yeah... TO WHOM!... I say WE are going to buy it. WE are going kill it, and then WE will sell it to the Chinese!" Orville replied.

"Well if I do help bring them down, "whom" is going to.. snarf.. build my Quicklead line? Snarf.. I don't like immigrants, and their spicy food upsets my bowels." Red proclaimed.

"Let us not start fighting over the corpse of a living creature so soon my friends, we still have much work to do. Our agent in MI6 has warned us that somebody may be trying to stop you with "The One" Red, you won't be of much help to us if you don't deal with them." leo said.

"Is this true Red?" Orville asked; "This wouldn't be the first time you have disappointed us, do I have to remind you about your time with us?"

Red did his best to hide the hatred he felt for both of these men, but if he had to decide which one of them he wanted to see perish first... he could answer that in a second.

"No, of course not.. Snarf, snarf... I have got everything under control. I have an inside guy... Nobody knows who he is, I get 24 hour updates from him, and will know what they are planing to do before they do!"

"Well I hope you know what you're doing... your expense reports are upsetting the accounting department, and we are not as flush with revenue as we once were after that whole stock exchange thing." said Leo.

"Trust me." Red replied; "I have them just where I want them... Snarf ,snarf."

03-05-2013, 08:24 AM
Doc Bill set the speed control for 'cruise', which in his rented Bugatti Veyron Super Sport was a mild 210 mph. He had had the Bugatti up to over 250, but backed off a bit when "Hot Rod Lincoln" came up in the random music queue.

His resultant average speed was therefore a little over 190, even accounting for the stoplights, traffic and the toll at the Bay Bridge. He had slowed to 97 for the toll, the threshold he had found for the EZ Pass readers on the Western edge of the bridge. His travel time from Carroll County to the factory at Stevensville was thus just a little over 30 minutes for the 60 mile trip.

He eased the Bugatti into the space reserved for Mike Deeley, it was after two and Mike would be on the road somewhere having a beer with a dealer. "A beer, as in one," snorted Ruger.

He walked up the ramp at the NorthWest corner of the building and knocked the secret knock.

Knock, knock, knock, "Penny."
Knock, knock, knock, "Penny."
Knock, knock, knock, "Penny."

One of the crew from the SE final inspection team let him in. Doc Bill headed for the meeting room he knew would be set up in the room just behind reception. Despite the speed of his steed, Ruger could see that he was almost late, the room was already crowded.

The Private Stock Team were there as was PTC - the Special Forces Unit. In the corner he spied two other familiar faces.








"Don't you ladies ever tire of that game?" interrupted Ruger.

"No." smiled Autumn Sky. "Ever since we used that exchange to mesmerize our captors in the North Korea long enough for Sky to garrote the chief interrogator while I kicked the guard in the Ben Was. It saved our lives."

"You garroted the questioner?"

"No, Sky did that," said Autumn Sky.

"Who kicked the guard in the nads?"



"No, Sky did that."

Both women were on the verge of cracking up as Doc bill became increasingly confused. But before Ruger could get the story sorted out, Paul walked in.

"Hi, Paul," the group said in unison.

"Hi, friends." Paul looked at a sander in the fourth row. "There is a mouse under the rack of blanks three from the left in the fourth bank of shelves in the shop. I just heard it sneeze. Go kill it." The sander left the room with his jaw on the floor.

"New guys," Doc Bill chuckled to himself.

03-05-2013, 08:35 AM
In New Jersey, the wrecking crew was still trying to pull all of the debris out of the smoldering crater where Opraman had used to live. Ginger and Wayne, the Airedale, had already taken up residence with one of Ginger's many facebook and farmville friends. Bennett was no longer a thought in either of their minds.

Within the debris, a phone could be heard.

Among the scattered detritis, including some random bone fragments and ligament tissue, the remains of what appeared to be some rag dolls, dressed differently, with various pins sticking out of them, could be seen.

A first responder found the phone..remarkably intact within the carnage. however, upon closer inspection, he noted that it was a unique instrument. It had no ability to send...only receive...and it appeared to be constructed of a metal known as "unobtainium".

The phone continued to ring. the ring tone was a "Lucky Charms Cereal" advertisement.

"Hello" said the first responder...."hello...hello??"

A muffled voice replied..."hold for Mr. Raman" and in the background...."Red....pick up...Opraman answered...finally!"

"Bennett....what's up...you're 3 hours overdue. Status report!"

The first responder replied, "I'm very sorry...I think the party you are calling is deceased. this is just his telephone".

"Damn" was heard, as the phone went dead.

The first responder went back to his gruesome task. He threw the telephone into the pile of collected debris, and thought no more about it. Picking up what appeared to be a skull fragment and a piece of fibula, he was intent on obtaining all of the former resident's body parts so that a decent burial could be arranged.

03-05-2013, 08:41 AM
"Damn, too late," thought the first author... He had handed control of 'Bennett' over to the fifth author and just a couple of posts later, that author immolated the character. Before the first author could save him, the fith was burying his bones. The first author would not make that mistake again...


In the Leprechaun Cloning Facility, a new batch of red haired minions was being issued their greens. Bennet set up the facility at the behest of Red and was assured he would be handsomely paid. Bennett had made the mistake of asking why it was necessary to clone and Red had patiently explained the obvious - no woman in her right mind would have sex with a leprechaun, let alone carry his baby. "That explains their general disposition, then," Bennet had thought to himself.

News of Oppraman's toasty end reached the facilities manager via an angry phone call from Red, known in the cloning unit as "Big Red One." The comely secretary Bennett had just hired days before wept. It had nothing to do with Bennett. Her father-in-law's brother's niece's chiropractor's dog had mange and the news had rocked her.

03-05-2013, 09:25 PM
There was a knock on Chefman's hotel room door.


"Who is it?" he asked.

"Telegram," said the voice. Chefman pulled out the Makorov pistol he'd taken from the first hotel manager and opened the door, making sure to duck out of the way of the anticipated Land Shark attack.

But there stood Lena.

"What, you think we don't get Saturday Night Live reruns in Belorus?" she asked, scowling. Then she burst into a smile, and hugged Chefman. "This is all I get?" she asked. "You, I could shoot. But thank you."

Chefman quickly pushed her out of the way of the door, and onto the floor as two silenced bullets ripped through the door. "I said no tricks!" Chefman yelled after them. He could hear footsteps running down the hall. He knew better than to go after them. There would be a third man waiting to kill whoever came out the door of the room first. Still laying on the floor, he called the front desk.

"Give me Bodashka," he said. After an interminable wait of a minute and a half, the old man answered the phone.

"I told you, no tricks."

"Hauptmann," said Bodashka, "There were no tricks, I have given you the girl."

"Then you were followed. Send a house detective up to my floor and get rid of whoever is in the hall, or you are a dead man in two ways."

"Yes, Hauptmann," said the older man. "It will be done. I'm sorry." He couldn't believe his ploy hadn't worked. Sweat started to bead on his forehead.

"Sorry will cost you," said Ell, and he hung up the phone.

Lena was breathing hard from the excitement. Her senses were aroused. And she hadn't had sex in 70 years. Ell could hear the house detective and several men searching the hall. He knew that for appearance's sake, Bodashka had to make it appear as though he hadn't been in on the attempt to kill them. But he also knew that Bodashka couldn't simply return the woman without consequences from the Leprechaun.

He pulled out his iPhone. "Siri, get me Doc Bill." Obligingly, the phone began to dial. "Hello Ell," said Doc Bill.

"Bill, I need your help, and no time for questions. I'm going to give you an email address. I need your people to send a fake paypal payment to it. It needs to be obviously fake, in the amount of $130,000. Got that? OK, sending the address now. Gotta go."

"Won't he know it's a fake payment?" asked Lena.

"Yes," said Ell. "That's the point. At first, he won't know what's happening. It will take him some time, maybe a half a day, to figure it out. Owing him the money will keep us alive for a little while. Eventually, he will have to come to us for it. He's deep in debt. He will come to us. But right now we need to go. Grab your things and let's get out of here. I'll order the car."

Bodashka went to his office and closed the door. He opened a cabinet and turned on the digital playback of the bug he'd put in Chefman's room. There was only snoring, then he heard the recording of Lena's knock on the door and entry, and one muffled bullet. Then it went dead.

As Chefman checked the room for his things, he noticed a buillet hole in the lampshade, but there was a bent piece of metal coming out of it. He looked closer and saw that the bullet that came through the door had destroyed a tiny bugging device. "Lucky shot," he thought, as they left the room.

03-05-2013, 09:49 PM
As the Mercedes pulled away from the hotel and headed back to Minsk, Chefman knew that there would be a homing device attached to the car. Though he could easily find it with the help of the special guitar PRS had made him, he also wanted Bodashka to be able to find them.

As they drove, Lena leaned over the console of the Mercedes and put her head on Chefman's shoulder.

"I'm beginning to like you, a lot," she said in a sleepy voice. "Why are we stopping?"

"I have something to do, it'll take a second." They were upstream of Kiev, he'd stopped by the Dnieper. It was dark and no one was around. He carefully wiped down the Makarov MP to remove any prints, and removed the clip. One by one, he wiped down each bullet and the clip, and with his gloves on, threw the gun, the clip, and the bullets into the darkness of the river. He kneeled and waited for a few minutes to see if he could see anyone. There was only a dog barking in the distance.

He knew that eventually the link between Karinsky's disappearance and the Mercedes would be made. The weapon was a liability, as was the car. But he needed the Mercedes for a short while.

He walked back to the car, and saw that Lena was asleep. Ell got behind the wheel, turned on the radio, and picked up a Belorusian station.

They were playing the James Bond movie theme music. He recognized the guitar part. "Great tone," he thought. The black Mercedes roared off into the night.

In his office, Bodashka turned on his computer, and a map came up on the screen. A blinking red dot showed him the location of the homing device he'd put on the car. A smile crossed his lips. "Big Deutsches Reich spymaster," he thought. "We are smarter than we used to be."

(cue Bond theme)

03-05-2013, 10:15 PM
The Mercedes pulled into Minsk, and in front of the Crowne Plaza. Chefman and Lena got out with their luggage and checked into the hotel. Ell had the valet park the car. He couldn't help but notice the tiny "L" tattooed onto the left earlobe of the night manager.

"Handy way to keep track of foreigners," thought Chefman. "Put plants in hotels, and they'll be able to track travelers anywhere. Nice thinking, Leprechaun."

By now, the pair were exhausted, and all they could do was lay down in the room and immediately fall asleep.

03-06-2013, 12:45 PM
Doc Bill hit the 'End' button on his iPhone 5. "Go ahead, Ruger." said Paul. "We'll wait until you help Chefman." He had of course heard the entire conversation even though Paul was in the front of the room and Ruger in back with the phone pressed tightly to his ear.

Slightly embarrassed, Ruger fired up his iPad, opened PayPal and set up a dummy account called 'Shamrock Suckers, LTD'. He linked it to a phony Cayman bank account and made it appear that the routing was from Pyongyang through Kuala Lumpur through Djibouti through Epworth Iowa and then the Caymans. Doc Bill knew that if the payment was traced it would at first look to be legit since it went through Epworth, a little town of only 1642 people but with a truly international bank, but then be discovered as a fake because absolutely nobody does business with Pyongyang. He hit send and closed the iPad.

"Routed through Pyongyang, eh?" said Paul. "That'll keep them guessing for a little while. Paul had heard the faint keyclick feedback sounds from the iPad at the back of the room and of course could tell which letter was being pressed even though they sounded identical to everyone else within earshot. And even the people sitting in front of Ruger weren't within earshot.

Paul smiled. "Our sander will be on his way back, I just heard him suffocate the mouse in the wood shop."

The sander returned and flipped the mouse in Skitchy's lap where it was dipped in Spotted Dick and quickly swallowed. "Don't you ever share?" asked Shawn.

03-06-2013, 08:08 PM
Chefman had been awake for an hour before Lena got up. He was text messaging an old friend, Lieutenant Colonel Boris Potchky, formerly of the KGB, now retired. The texts read:

"Boris, urgent. It's the Angel. I need some PVV-5A. Enough to destroy and torch a car, no more than that. I'm at the Minsk Crowne Plaza."

"Angel, long time no see. Come visit. Will send package with Jerzy later today, What room?"

"Thank you. Room 657. Will repay kindness."

"No problem. You have my information."

"What's that all about?" asked Lena, yawning.

"Just planning a warm welcome for our friend Mr. B," he replied. "I'm sure we'll see him this evening. Meantime, let's go have brunch; you hungry?"


"Good, let's get ready. And do me a favor, stay close to me. They're trying to get to me through you. OK?"

"How close?" she said brushing her lips on his cheek.

"No. We can't be distracted. We didn't live this long only to be taken down in a hotel room from self-induced distractions. Right?"

"And PVV5A?" she asked.

"Russian plastic explosive. We will need it."

"Right..." she grumbled. She undressed and headed toward the bathroom. Chefman pretended not to notice. But a brain scan would have looked like this:


03-07-2013, 01:56 PM
The three men had been driving east from Colorasta for about twelve hours. Rango and Frank were purposely skipping Sergio in the driving rotation more due to the fact that whoever drives gets to pick the radio station than anything else.

"That's it" Frank said; "I'm beat! We are almost in Illinois, I say we either pull over and sleep or we let Sergio drive for a while."

"Fine" Rango replied;" Look Sergio, I have set the GPS on my phone for the most direct route there, all you have to do is follow the blue line and wake me when we need gas. Preferably a Speedway... I have my Speedy-Rewards card with me and I almost have enough points saved up for a bag of Sun Chips... Do NOT! I repeat, DO NOT! reset the GPS!"

"Okay... Dad!" Sergio replied.

"He's going to be fine Rango. Aren't you Sergio?" Frank asked.

"Of Course!" Sergio spat back. "I am plenty rested.. Here I'll even put on some classic rock for you guys, how about some Floyd? DSOTM sound alright to you?"

"Sure." Rango said.

"Fine" Frank replied.

"Good! Man, I remember before I started smoking weed.. DSOTM was the only album that ever put me to sleep. I would just put my headphones on and before I knew it..."

"ZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzz" Frank and Rango snored in unison from the backseat.

After being asleep for four hours Frank awoke to Rango freaking out; "G@d D@mn!t!!! I knew it!"

"What? Where are we? Where is Sergio?" Frank asked.

"We are at Zara's." Rango said.

"Who is Zara?" Frank retorted; "She sounds exotic."

"It's like H&M, you know, one of those european stores that sells cheap crappy clothing that all the "kids" like."

Just then Sergio returned with two fists full of shopping bags. He was wearing some white oversized women's sunglasses and eating a Cinnabon.

"Hey guys! I hope you don't mind but I had to stop and get us some new clothes, and something in this car smells like burning cabbage."

"Yeah it does." Frank replied; "Please tell me that you just put the parking brake on when you got to this mall."

"Wait!" Rango yelled out, " I just got an email from Doc Bill, he says that the "Tree Cola Bredren" are on their way to Stevensville and they have brought the guitars!"

"Um, yeah. I kinda wanted that to be a surprise." Sergio said; "but I guess you'll have to make do with this one instead."

He handed the two men the shopping bags, gave Rango a Chai Soy No Water Latte and Frank a Guinness disguised in a Starbucks tumbler.

"Whoa, Thanks!" Frank said.

"Yeah, thanks Sergio" Rango replied; "This almost makes up for driving up I-80 with the E-Brake on. I'm amazed that you were able to get the "Bredren" together and everything, but now how are we gonna get to Stevensville? The car is JACKED! No way I'm putting another rental on my Discover Card! This is going to affect my flyer miles!!!"

Frank handed Rango the tumbler full of Guinness to calm him down; " Yeah, I'm sure we could just hop on a plane and get to Maryland, we should be there in a few hours." Frank stated.

"No." Sergio retorted; " Red surely has minions at the airport, we can't risk getting caught on the way there."

"Well then how are we gonna get to Stevenssss........." Rango trailed off and moved his free hand to shield his eyes from an enormous glare approaching him.

"In this!!" Sergio announced! "And WE ain't driving.... She is!"

Frank and Rango were beyond stunned. Frank had been around Sergio enough to know that anything could happen, but.... well who wouldn't be a little shocked?

In front of the men pulled up a stretch limousine that have must have been made up from the at least three DeLorean's, maybe four.

"Is this what you spent all your "50 shades of Blanc" royalties on?" Frank asked.

"Well not all of it... the rest I spent on getting her to drive me around.... It's amazing what this chick will do for cash nowadays!"

The driver's side door opened up (and by up, I mean UP!) and a pair of legs slid out.....

"OMG!" Rango said; "She's driving us?! WE ARE ALL GOING TO DIE!!!"

"Hi Sergio!! I got here as fast as I could.... well I mean as soon as my dealer/agent/dad (or just "Dad" for short) was able to get the damn tracking ankle monitor off..." The girl said as she leaned in for a kiss on the cheek from Sergio.

"Great to see you Lindsay!" Sergio said while coping a feel.

Once again Lindsay Lohan is re-added to the character list.


03-07-2013, 02:52 PM
Lindsay Lohan was now added to the character list."

Got news for you guys...read back...Lindsay is only there 'cause her therapist (who was seeing her daily, and occasionally, 2X per day) was killed by Opraman, shortly before Opraman was done in by Ell. She's been a character for years, and a character in this passion play for almost a week already.

03-07-2013, 03:36 PM
Got news for you guys...read back...Lindsay is only there 'cause her therapist (who was seeing her daily, and occasionally, 2X per day) was killed by Opraman, shortly before Opraman was done in by Ell. She's been a character for years, and a character in this passion play for almost a week already.

That must be where she crept into my mind from! Who's to say Red hasn't cloned an army of Lohans? Who knows if Opraman killed the right Lindsay? Who's to say Opraman is dead? Only time will tell.....

03-07-2013, 04:22 PM
That must be where she crept into my mind from! Who's to say Red hasn't cloned an army of Lohans? Who knows if Opraman killed the right Lindsay? Who's to say Opraman is dead? Only time will tell.....

Opraman was totally blown up by Ell....Opraman is pushing up daisies. He's stone cold dead. He's an ex-person. If he didn't have bone fragments left, he'd be nothing at all. 'Ees dead. Gone to meet his maker. No longer with the living. Shuffled off this mortal coil. Dead.

03-07-2013, 05:43 PM
Opraman was totally blown up by Ell....Opraman is pushing up daisies. He's stone cold dead. He's an ex-person. If he didn't have bone fragments left, he'd be nothing at all. 'Ees dead. Gone to meet his maker. No longer with the living. Shuffled off this mortal coil. Dead.

If I recall correctly Sergio died once too. How do we know that was the real Opraman? Leprechauns have mystical powers that will only stop whence they are returned to the bowels of hell... or New Jersey. What exactly caused the sink hole again?

03-09-2013, 11:38 PM
Red watched the live feed from the T.J. Maxx dressing rooms and wept. He was surrounded by a treasure pile beyond his imagination, yet he still felt empty inside. Ever since Ratchet and Buck left him, Red had taken to carrying around an old life-sized Gibson Ace Frehley cutout around town in order to keep him company. He talked to it...... it was creepy.

"I have tried to make friends! Snarf snarf.. (sob) ...Why doesn't anybody love me!!!?" While the sight of Red violently crying until a shamrock-shake-colored fluid poured from his nose, it was the kind of scene where you started to feel a little bit bad for the guy.... I mean he really did try to make an impact on the guitar-nerd community, he didn't just sit back and complain about guitar manufacturers... he built his own! It must have been hard growing up as a leprechaun, the daily childhood beatings must have been brutal!

"I refuse to (Burrrrrp!) go on this way!!" Red yelled; " If nobody wants to be my friend?...... well that's why I just made my own friends!"

The disaster at Opramans house wasn't an ordinary sink hole, it was actually an underground gestational chamber that was opening and it wound up destroying the home. Legions of leprechauns and Lindsay clones poured out of the debris and into the streets of New Jersey,within minutes every news station was reporting on the chaos.

"A gaggle of Lohan's destroy a salt factory after mistaking it for cocaine.... Weather at nine." Just then the CNN feed got cut off! You could clearly see a leprechaun lunge at the camera man seconds before the live feed was terminated. When the news reached Red he was more than satisfied.... he was gloating.

"I knew Opraman would come through! Snarf... All of those damn BOC collectables throughout the years have finally paid off!" Red yelled to no-one in particular; "Behold World!....My Friends!!!! Ah, ha,ha,ha,ha,ha,ha,ha,ha,ha,ha,ha. (breath) Ha,ah,ah,ha,ha,ha,ah,ha,ah... haha,....... (breath) HA!..... snarf."

03-09-2013, 11:56 PM
After what Chefman regarded as a decent brunch - scrambled eggs, pork sausages, a steak, several rolls, lots of butter, a few pancakes, orange juice, four cups of coffee, and an absinthe, he said to Lena, "Dig?"

"Ell, I like you a lot, but I'm not sure I really dig you. You won't have sex with me."

"I meant with shovels. Are you ready to look for the coin?"

"Yes," she replied. "Seventy years, Ell. I have a lot to do besides dig, ok?"

"Oh, would you mind carrying that bag? My hands are full."

"OK, what's in it?"

"It's the explosives. The waiter was one of my friend's men. He brought it while you were powdering your nose."

"Is it safe to carry?" she asked.

"Not really," he replied. "Let's go."

Ell chuckled as Lena walked very, very carefully toward the car.

03-10-2013, 12:50 AM
Frank, Sergio, and Rango were getting along famously, after all they were being driven to Maryland in a stretch DeLorean by "America's Favorite Train-wreck": Lindsay Lohan.

The men had no more stress about getting to Stevensville. They passed the time with fruity drinks and "Burgertime"; the video game from the 80's that Sergio had playing in the back of the stretch. The hours passed easily as long as Sergio gave Lindsay a few "bumps" from the container labeled: "Crazy B!#ch Food". They would stop once in a while to use the bathroom and gas up, but it wasn't until a late night pit-stop for taquito's that Rango became alarmed.

"Hey Lindsay!" Rango called out across the desolated truck stop; "Don't meet anybody in the showers, we gotta get a move on."

"Yes Dad!" Lindsay replied, she had taken to calling him this after hearing Sergio say it once. Rango resented it, and was glad that there was a blackout window between the driver and passenger sides in the "DeLimo", as the guys were now calling it.

"I'll take a chicken, a pork, and a chimmy-cheese steak taquito please." Frank said to the cashier.

"You wanna chimmy-cheese steak-chicken-pork taquito? The cashier replied.

"No. I want one chicken, and one pork, and one chimmy-cheese steak taquito. please." Frank said back.

"Yes sir, that is exactly what I said. You want one chimmy-chesse steak-chicken........" the cashier and Frank went on like this for enough time that Sergio wandered off to the section of the truck stop that carried all those bitchin' Mudflap-Momma's stickers, CB's, and "Krull" knives until a familiar female walked up to him.

"Hey there sexy... You got anything for me?" The woman asked.

"Lindsay, I told you that it was best if you did that while we were in the "DeLimo". There are security cameras everywhere... I'm sure you don't want to get caught... What if it winds up on TMZ?" Sergio asked.

"Uhh, whateveeeer fruitcake." Lindsay replied and walked away towards the shower area. A few minutes later a scream was heard coming from that shower area, it was Rango and two Lindsays wrestling on the floor. Rango was about to confront Lindsay about her "dad" comment when he noticed Lindsay number two walk into the same room Lindsay number one did a moment earlier...

"Frank! I need some help!" Rango screamed.

"In a minute!" frank replied; " No, I want three total taquitos. One chicken, one pork....... Oh screw it, Sergio! Come here and order me some food while I get Rango some toilet paper."

"Um, yeah... May I please purchase a number one, a number two, and a number four please?" Sergio asked the cashier.

"Okay, you want one chicken, one pork, and one chimmy-cheese steak taquito? $3.68 please" The cashier handed Sergio the food and his change in record time, never has a business transaction gone smoother. He walked back to the shower area and saw Frank standing there watching Rango wrestle with the twin Lindsay's. he turned to Frank and asked: "Should we do something?"

"In a minute." Franks said; "In a minute."

03-10-2013, 09:55 PM
Chefman drove the Mercedes through Minsk, to what was once the outskirts of town; he didn't recognize much, but he had a sense of where the hospital had been situated in 1813 relative to the town center, whose location hadn't changed.

He pulled out his laptop. He had read papers by a noted Egyptologist who'd discovered new ruins and pyramids using satellite photography. He pulled up a file of satellite photographs that he'd bought and borrowed from scholars, knowing that if the old hospital and cemetery were not located under new construction, he'd be able to see the outlines of foundations and burial sites. He was hoping against hope that they would be in an undeveloped part of the city, perhaps buried over by more modern cemeteries, or under fallow land.

Quickly his experienced eyes scanned photograph after photograph. Indeed he was able to make out the shapes of the foundations of earlier structures in parts of Minsk, but not what he needed. His work continued for several hours. Lena napped. At about 3:30, he noticed a piece of land that was undeveloped that looked promising. He zoomed in; there it was. He was familiar with the shape of the hospital because he'd sketched it many times from his window while being held by the Russians. And within about 300 meters from the West side of the building were the faint, irregular outlines of ditches and trenches. This had to be it -- trenches originally constructed for defense had been used for mass burials of French prisoners who died in hospital, out of convenience and lack of manpower to dig proper graves. He knew where to dig!

He woke Lena, and handed her a mint. He hated morning breath. "I've found where to start," he said tersely. He closed the laptop and had one more thing to do. Placing the explosives package under the drivers' seat, he deftly wired a fuse and electronic detonator that could be triggered from his iPhone. With his training over many years, it was child's play. It was undetectable to the naked eye. Then he drove to the site, guided by his GPS and satellite map.

03-11-2013, 09:43 AM
"We're almost ready to start," said Paul Smith. "The last two people we are waiting on just pulled up outside. The first is driving a rented 1970 Corvette that is about a half a quart low on oil - those tappets are really making a racket. The other is in a BWI Limo driven by a short Indian man who likes pistachios. Over the sound of the nuts, I can hear that there is a small leak in the PVC tubing near the starter and that his left blinker is stuck on, but the rear light is out."

Shortly thereafter, Davy Knowles walked into the room. No one was prepared for the second man except Paul. Following Knowles was a slightly paunchy man with short cropped gray hair. He was carrying a PRS prototype with three narrow 408 pickups. It was David Gilmour.

"Good. Let's get started," said Paul. "David, let's start with you, thanks for coming."

"Thanks for having me," Gilmour said, winking at Sky Fall in the back of the room. "I put this guitar though it's paces and it is everything you promised and more. I can get every tone I ever wanted from a good 'quack' to the most blistering full humbucker growls I could ever need. I'm anxious to hear what 'Number One' thinks about it."

With that, Gilmour handed the guitar to the gentleman in the first row. Carlos stood and walked over to the HX/DA, dialed in his personal settings and plugged in.

The room vibrated sympathetically to every note from "Once It's Gotcha" as Carlos played. A large smile lit up his face. Looking at Paul, Carlos said, "Can I get this in Rasta?" Paul nodded 'yes' as he rolled his eyes.

Santana handed the guitar to Knowles who tweaked the HXDA and launched into "Fire On The Bayou." In the back of the room, Autumn Sky beamed. That song always made her want to strip naked and jump on Davy, but then again, almost anything Davy did had that effect on her. Looking over at her friend, Sky Fall was thinking, "I bet she could cut glass with those…"

There was unanimous agreement in the room that the new prototype was something really special. As the buzz continued, Paul laid out his plans for how that guitar and the nearly four hundred identical ones he, Paul Miles and Skitchy had made in secret during off hours would be used against the leprechaun army and bolster the guitar know as "The One" in the fight against Big Red.

03-13-2013, 08:05 PM
Oppraman stood up painfully. The crawl through the escape tunnel had almost done him in, he wasn't as young as he used to be. Over almost 40 years, he had excavated the tunnel himself in secret. His wife thought the pile of dirt on the drive every weekend from Spring through Fall was a weekly delivery of topsoil for their yard which was constantly at the mercy from Arf's large, yet disappointing bowel movements. It didn't help that Oppraman continually spiked Arf's food with phenothalene to perpetuate the deception.

As he stood on the outbuilding some hundred yards away looking at the smoldering remains of his house and basement lab, he tried to piece together what went wrong. "It must have been the Argon Laser," Oppraman thought to himself. "Those things can get out of control so easily."

Oppraman smiled a wry smile to himself as he thought of the bones he had kept in the lab for the past year. The engineer they belonged to was the first studio engineer he had killed and now they would cover his trail. Everyone must think he was dead. This might work out even better than he had planned.

03-13-2013, 08:15 PM
"Damn", said Oppraman to himself. "Now that everyone believes I'm dead....I can't have my prescription for medical marijuana filled at Montclair's Greenleaf Compassionate Care Center. I had an appointment tomorrow to pick up two ounces of Lemon Diesel and an ounce of Purple Koosh. What a waste".

He continued to make his way out of the secret tunnel and then smiled.

"I just remembered.....we're all going to wind up in Colorado before long anyway. Our destiny is to destroy he who would use "the one" against our ultimate goals.

And pot is legal there!"

03-13-2013, 09:04 PM
Chefman pulled the special guitar/metal detection unit out of its gig bag. With the flick of the toggle switch, the neck bent to a 70 degree angle, and he attached the end of a cable to his iPhone. Paul had thought of everything. He said it was the most powerful metal detector in the world, and here it was, ready to be used in less than 30 seconds. Ell pulled up the special iPhone app that the PTC had written, got the shovels out of the trunk of the car, and he and Lena went to work.

Within ten minutes, there was a strong signal on the device, indicating buried metal. The detector was able to scan sizes and the display showed what appeared to be buried metal buttons in several layers, along with miscellaneous small metal objects that could be coins.

"I've found a place to start digging," he whispered to Lena, who had been walking behind him. She didn't answer. He turned his head; Bodashka had her, with his hand over her mouth. He'd been very stealthy. And he'd arrived as predicted; alone, holding an automatic pistol. Ell saw no other weapons.

"You tried to fool me, Hauptmann," said Bodashka. "Now I have the woman, and you both will dig for me. But first, Engel, you will transfer the money into my account properly."

"Will you give me the woman if I do that? I need her to help me dig."

"Yes, but I will stand over you both with my gun, and if you make a false move, I will kill you as I should have done at the hotel," Bodashka said.

"Of course you will. And you're thinking that you'll kill us anyway, Bodashka, after we find what we're after, but remember, if I'm not back in Berlin in 48 hours, my people will release the information that will ruin you. So if we have a deal, it will be that you leave us here, alone, with the car and what we are after, so that we can return to Berlin. And you will have your money. Fair enough?"

Bodashka thought for a few moments. If Berlin had information about his wartime betrayal of his country he was a dead man walking. He couldn't afford to take a chance.

"Fine, once the money is in my account. Make the transfer."

"My computer and datalink are in the car, Bodashka. I need to use it to make your transfer."

"I will sit with you to make sure you do it, and then I will need to use it to check."

"Fine. Let's go to the car and make it happen." Chefman walked to the car, and opened the driver's door, motioning to Bodashka to take the passenger seat.

"Oh no, Herr Hauptmann. I am wise to your tricks. I will sit in the driver's seat, and you will be the passenger this time." Chefman rolled his eyes.

"Only an idiot would booby-trap his own car that he needs to use to get back to Berlin, Bodashka, but go ahead." Bodashka got behind the wheel of the Mercedes, and Chefman got into the passenger seat. Reaching for the computer that was on the console, he booted up, and got a link to the internet. Then he logged onto Paypal, and initiated the transfer.

"You're all set, Bodashka. Now leave."

"Oh no, not yet, Hauptmann. I will wait and make sure this was a real transfer. I can now check the authenticity within minutes. Hand me the computer."

Chefman did. Then he got out of the car, and said, "Bodashka, I'm going to start digging. I'm unarmed and so is the woman. When you have your confirmation, you're going to leave. Or your past will come back to bite you."

But Bodashka was following his money now, intent on the computer screen sitting in the drivers' seat. Suddenly, he heard the door locks operate and as he looked up; he could see Chefman on a cell phone. The Mercedes blew up at that moment, killing Bodashka instantly. The Belorusian police would later suspect an organized crime hit, as Bodashka was a known insider, and all of the evidence was of Russian explosive devices.

The car had been registered to one of Leprechaun's money-laundering shell companies. It took the police weeks to determine the identity of the remains. Not much of Bodashka was left to identify.

03-14-2013, 12:07 AM
"........ And take these whores with you!!!!!!" The cashier hurled the two Lindsay's and Rango out the front door and onto the pavement. Rango got up and brushed himself off and gave Sergio and Frank a grin that only could come from a man that had wrestled two Lohans at the same time. (which in North America, among men aged between 13-87 there is about a three to one odds chance that you will... so just wait.)

"That's what I'm talkin' about!" Rango declared to the world," I think I need a cigarette!"

At the moment of realization that they weren't the center of attention anymore, they had that same moment like when a child falls and has to look around to make sure somebody saw them get hurt before they go through with the effort of crying, the two Lindsays looked at each other and did the same thing they had done since the were kids...

"Waaahhh!" The Lindsays wailed on the concrete.

Frank was... for a time employed by Sergio to clean up these kinds of messes, so he pulled out a bottle of ether and a rag and tried to subdue the women; "These crazy chicks won't stop! What'll I do?" Frank yelled.

Sergio slowly sang out the magical incantation that would lead the Lindsays back into the De-limo: "Yahhh-oooo... Yay-O- Yeah.....YO!" He threw a bag of coke and the keys into the front seat and slammed the door down (and I do mean Down!) and motioned for Frank and Rango to hurry into the backseat.

"What did you do that for?! You can't possibly think those two are fit to drive, Do you?!" Frank said while being pushed into the De-limo by his friends.

"Look" Rango seemed to understand where Sergio was going with this; " We are super close to Stevensville, but I think that there is something not quite right about there being two Lindsay Lohans... I've seen 'em up close.... they are exactly the same, as in duplicates! There was a period of time when I rolling around with them that they did some of the exact same moves on me..... I mean it was nice, but totally not right in a way."

"Okay Frank?" Sergio asked; "Remember that other time with the Olsen Twins when we went camping with Heath Ledger?"

"I thought we said we would never speak of that again." Frank said solemnly: "Especially not around other people." Frank motioned in Rango's direction.

"I have a feeling that when this is all said and done, Rango is going to make a pact with us to never speak of this again.... Yes?" Sergio replied.

"Hey! Rango said: " This better not be one of those "What happens in Vegas" kind of things. If there is one thing I am sure of after rolling around with those chicks is that I'm..."

"Give it a break Mr."Mani-Pedi," Frank spat; "You don't know the gravity of this situation Rango. There are crazy supernatural forces happening here, I can't relive the horror of Mary-Kate-Ann-Ashley again, once was enough."

"You mean those girls from Full House and The Joker?" Rango exclaimed; "What? Did the two of them do something to that dude from A Knight's Tale?"

"The One." Frank cried. (In the most manly way you possibly could after such trauma.)

"Which one? I bet it was that Mary Kate... " Rango said.

"No. Not one... but BOTH as THE ONE! Known to the world as Mary-Kate-Ann-Ashley; two twin souls that when pitted against each other turn into an entirely separate entity... A MEGA DIVA!" Sergio's eyes lit up with fire and the glazed over look of a washed up stoner who only eats mozzarella-sticks and drinks Gallo magnums; "The origin of the Lindsay clones must be somewhere near us, if we can get them desperate enough they may take us to their home."

"That's usually where my wife goes whenev..."

"I get it! You're straight, I'm sorry I called you Mr. Mani-Pedi man." Frank cut Rango off mid-sentence and turned to Sergio: " Is that what the bag of "coke" and car keys was all about?"

"Yup. I figure we have about an hour before they blow through that. It's mostly baby laxative and powdered sugar... and you know how everybody likes to use their own bathroom." Sergio said.

"Alright, but what will we do if they combine into a Mega-Diva before we get there? And don't think I have forgotten about that Heath Ledger business either, I think I have a right to know what may or may not happen to me!" Rango said getting quite persistent.

"They won't merge into "The One" until there is no hope left... and if you really have to know you have to promise to never tell anybody what we are about to tell you."

"I promise." Rango said.

An hour later the three men sat in complete silence, but every once in a while Rango would shake his head and mutter: "That's so F@#ked up." His reaction to the De-limo shaking to a grinding halt was subdued, it was like he had just learned for the first time that the NBA was as fake as wrestling; total devastation.

There were wild screams and noises that sounded as though the Lindsays had finally gone ferrel, and were raiding their parent's home for more blow. When the three men emerged from the De-limo they saw not a home per say, but what looked like a giant sinkhole with a little bit of house in it.

"Well it looks as though they brought us to the den." Frank stated.

"I think we may need to look around a bit." Sergio replied.

"That's sooo F@#ked up!" Rango repeated.

"You guys go after the Lindays, I'll dig around over here." Sergio suggested.

Sergio inspected the sinkhole looking for an opening when he found Opraman's prescription for his medical grade smoke; "Keep that." He said to himself and kept searching.


03-14-2013, 07:55 AM
Opraman was sitting in the car, pulled over on Route 80 in Hacketstown. He had figured that the best thing to do was to drive across I-80 all the way to Colorado. He could maintain contact with his minions through his various cellular and radio devices, and by the time he had reached Mountain time, he would be in a position to establish a rendezvous with Red, and the lesser leprachauns. All was going according to plan, despite his having survived a blast that leveled the house and left a pile of bones in the debris.

The only problem was the police officer standing outside his window.

"Do you know why I pulled you over? You were doing 80 in a 65".

"Sorry officer, I didn't realize".

The officer leans over and peers into the half open window.

"What's that smell?" He asks, as he reaches for his handgun, preparing to call for backup. A routine traffic stop had taken an unexpected turn as the pungent smell of ganga permeated the interior of the vehicle.

Opraman sensed that the situation was going to get out of control in a hurry.

He knew exactly what to do.

03-14-2013, 03:54 PM
To make a long story short, Chefman and Lena sifted through a gigantic pile of bones and after a relatively disgusting 8 hours of digging through skeletons, found the coin with the map. They covered up their dig very thoroughly. Ell decided not to take Bodashka's car to the Minsk Airport.

There were no prints on the shovels, or the car Bodashka had arrived in, because the pair had used gloves and had been careful to wipe everything down, as they had with the Mercedes that had been destroyed. Ell stowed the shovels in Bodashka's trunk, and the pair started walking back toward town, looking no different from any pair of hikers.

It would now be on to Lida to search for the hiding place of The Object.

03-15-2013, 02:37 AM
"Hey guys! Over here!" Frank yelled from a distance: "I found Something!"

Rango had followed the girls to what had remained of the bathroom in Opraman's sink-house. He had observed the Lindsays smoke a bottle of baby aspirin and pass out when he heard Frank call to him. " I guess these two are no worries for now." Rango said to himself and met Sergio in the backyard to see what Frank was spazzing about.

"It looks like a kids laser pistol, but it has some gender symbols on it... and some other I don't quite recognize." Frank had assisted Sergio on his book tour of Thailand so there should be no doubt to his deep familiarity with the sexes, if Frank didn't know what they were? Anything was possible.

"Well does it even work?" Sergio asked.

Frank took aim and fired at the ground. A green laser beam had fired from it but there was no sign of damage, not even a displaced piece of dirt could be found, "I don't know." Frank said; "It seems harmless enough." He then clicked the dial on the pistol to a symbol that resembled whatever Prince was calling himself for a while, and aimed at the two passed out Lindsays in the crushed bathroom, squeezed the trigger and sang: " Till I find the righteous ones... Computer Blue!"

The purple laser beam that shot from the pistol hit Lindsay #2 (Everybody's least favorite of the two) and reduced her to a small purple-ish-kinda- troll-leprechaun-elf-thing.

"What is that? Shoot it again! Turn the dial!" Rango screamed at Frank.

"Die! Lohan!" Frank twistd the dial on the pistol and sprayed a flurry of shots at the Lindsays.

The second the blue beams hit them they transformed into giant hulking oafs with red mullets, when the to Lindsa.. err Larry's? caught a glimpse of their new identities in the broken bathroom mirror they freaked: "Agggh! I would rather die!!.. but not before I rid the earth of such hideousness!!"

The Lindsa... uh, "Larry's" clashed in a bloody-melty mess of Venus Spa razors and Liquid Plumber, as they lay dying Rango swipes the gender pistol from Franks hand and has a look.

"Look! I think this has something to do with the leprechaun, only Red could think up such a twisted device... I don't even know what half of the symbols are? I'm taking a wild guess but I think this one is either a mushroom or a bowl haircut..." Rango accidentally pulled the trigger and the pink laser beam that shot out of it did something it never had before, it changed direction and boomeranged west across the sky. "Uh, I guess somebody is in for a surprise." Rango chuckled.

The police cars lights glimmered in the night sky on Route 80, right before the exit to Hacketstown sat Opraman facing the bearish state trooper... He knew exactly what to do.

"Uh, sorry officer but you see, I've had a little accident.... I was only speeding because I just happened to, uh, my pants." Just as Opraman said this, he became transfixed on a distant pink light reflecting in his rear-view until it finally hit him full force!

The bearish state trooper recoiled in horror as he witnessed the transformation of Opraman, he fell back into the street and looked up as the creature that was once Opraman climbed out of the car. There before him stood a gnarled beast wearing thigh high stripper boots, cut-off cargo shorts, a wolf t-shirt with a neck tie, and a white baseball cap... effectively every known gender stereotype rolled into one... with a bowl haircut.

Opraman, who was oblivious to his new deformity asked the officer: "License and registration? Could we please hurry? I'm a doctor on my way to see a patient." Opraman always got away with speeding when he used that line. "Please! It's a matter of life and death!"

Before the stunned state trooper could react, a semi-truck sped past the flashing police vehicle and drove over his skull leaving.... well... lets just say it was quite a mess.

"Great!" Opraman exclaimed; "Now I need new clothes! Siri? fnid me a twenty-four hour Land's End outlet..."

03-20-2013, 08:53 PM
Chefman was growing fond of Lena, and happy to be in her company. He gave her a big smile when they were seated on the hulking Russian helicopter for the trip to Lida. She coyly returned the smile and patted his arm.

The castle in Lida was constructed around 1330 by Grand Duke Gediminas to defend the Duchy of Litva against incursions from the Teutonic Knights. It would be 100 years or so before the Teutonic Knights were finally defeated at Tannenberg by the Lithuanians and Poles, meantime they ran ragged over Eastern Europe under the guise of a Crusade to convert the Baltic heathens. And the Lida castle fell to them, and to many others, over the centuries.

Chefman himself had been tempted to join their wars as needed to change identities, but was happier at the time in Western Europe.

Before long, the 'copter touched down in Lida, and the pair hailed a taxi and proceeded straight to the castle, which was also a tourist attraction. However, Lida was kind of light on tourists, and they found themselves nearly alone.

03-20-2013, 10:50 PM
Standing in the empty courtyard of the “castle”, which at this point was four walls and a couple of towers that had partly been reconstructed in later years, Ell got his bearings. The coin was ancient, Ell guessed it probably dated from the late 7th Century and was of Italian origin. It had been inscribed in Latin:

Ab alta turris porta quatuor passuum Orientalium (From the high tower gate four paces East)

Tunc decem passus aquilonem (Then ten paces north)

Duo passuum ad Occidentem et foderit (Two paces to the West and dig)

duos cubitos (two cubits)

In Late antiquity and in Rome, this unit was standardized as two gradūs or five Roman feet (1.48 metres or 58.1 English inches). Since the courtyard was now empty but for Lena and Ell, Chefman got out a tape measure and worked it out, marking the spot with a small tent stake. Then he paced it out Roman style, each passuum being a double-pace, heel strike to heel strike. It worked out very close. He broke out the PRS guitar/metal detector while Lena stood watch.

Ell also knew from his own experience that the cubit was a unit of measure that began in ancient Egypt, and persisted as a standard measure in Europe and even into early modern times. It was about 18 inches.

“Not very deeply buried,” he worried. It might have already been discovered, stolen, hidden away. But he remembered that there had been buildings on the site that had been razed, which meant that perhaps the “secret” had been originally buried under one of them. And no doubt the accumulated debris and dirt of the succeeding centuries had resulted in a far deeper burial than the coin indicated.

The sophisticated software on the iPhone, plugged into the detector, started to beep after a few sweeps of the area. The ground-penetrating radar mode was switched on, and it indicated a dark shape that appeared to be about four to five feet beneath the topsoil.

As the sun went down, the dig began. After about five and a half feet, Ell’s shovel struck what sounded like soft metal. Feverishly, he dug around the object, and freed it. He pulled a square object about the size of a small suitcase, wrapped in a lead covering out of the ground. The lead was damaged, but he could make out the inscription, “U......ficem mundum.” He immediately realized that it must have originally read, “Ut salvificem mundum.”
“To Save The World.”

He unzipped the spare nylon zippered duffel he carried for this purpose, and put the object into it, zipping it shut. Then he covered the dig, stamping the ground and covering it with loose dirt and gravel to make it unobtrusive. When he was satisfied with his handiwork, he said to Lena, “Let’s get a hotel room. I have to get what’s in this to my friend Sergio as soon as possible.”

“Did you say...hotel?” asked Lena.

“Yes, I have to open this, we can’t get answers from the outside of a lead package. “And we need rest.”

“And something else.” Lena winked.

“Oh yeah, that. Maybe,” said Ell. “If I don’t have a migraine.” Lena sulked all the way to the hotel.

When they got to the room and closed the door, Ell put on music and put his finger to his lips. “Shh” he whispered to Lena. “The room is probably bugged.”

He began to cut the lead wrapping from the package. Inside was a wooden box. The lead had prevented the wood from rotting while it sat under the ground. He opened the box. Inside was a small leather wrapped scroll. The scroll was made of parchment, and it was in superb condition. Unrolling it, Ell realized its significance right away. His eyes opened wide.

“What is it?” Lena whispered.

“Lena, this is amazing. The world has searched for it for over a thousand years. This is not only a book of spells and alchemy, this is the Philosopher’s Stone.”

“But it’s a book, not stone,” she whispered back.

“Exactly,” he replied in a hushed tone. “It’s never been a stone. The legends misnamed it. It’s a book of Tones. And the right Tones will save the world.”

Ell took out his digital camera and photographed the entire scroll. Then he uploaded the pictures to a MacBook Pro he had in his backpack (he’d handed Badoshka an old one to be destroyed) created a zip file, and emailed the file to his friend Sergio. Then he carefully packed the object in its box and lead canister, and zipped them into his bag.

“If this email is opened in time,” he said softly, “we may just prevail.”

Lena smiled. “Come to bed,” she ordered.

Ell was happy to oblige.

03-21-2013, 12:11 AM
"Ah, Ha ha.. Okay, okay... now do me!" Frank fired the gender laser pistol at Sergio and transformed him into what looked like a cross between Sandra Bernhard and Jerry Seinfeld wearing yoga pants and a sports bra.. "Okay...! Now "Hulk" Me!" Sergio barked at Frank.

Frank switched the dial on the gun and fired it at Sergio while Rango sat in a corner covering his mouth; "Here goes!" Frank yelled, the laser beam hit Sergio and transformed him into a huge masculine bodybuilder-type guy while the yoga pants exploded into pieces.

"Ah! Ha Ha ha ha!... oh no... I did it again!" Rango squealed; " Now I need some new pants too!"

The guys were headed to Stevensville and decided to stop by a nearby mall that would honor the prescription that Sergio had found at Opraman's house. After a quick chief session in the De-Limo they all thought it would be a good idea to to go to the food court to grab something to go..... and that was about two hours ago.

It first started when Rango decided he wanted to go into Victoria's Secret (to get something for his wife, I'm sure) but was too shy to go in without a female with him. Then Frank wanted to play a joke on the dudes at the GNC... He went in, purchased some "Powerlift 3000 Creatine Milk" and scared the hell out of the dudes working there by "bulking up" in front of their eyes by doing a couple of "lines" of the stuff on the counter: "Oh Yeah! You boys know of a place that sells Ed Hardy T-shirts?!" Frank asked the CNC dudes. Sergio sneezed, coughed, and laughed at the same time, proving that while unpleasant.. it's totally possible.

They were in the dressing rooms at the "Hot Yoga" chain store when shortly atfer Rango peed his, and Sergio split his, a vibrating sensation was happening in the front of Franks pants; "Oh my God!! I snorted too much! my boys are gonna explode!!.... oh wait, it's just your phone.. here you go Sergio... Who was it?"

"Um, Okay! Enough fun for now," Sergio exclaimed; " El just sent me an email. We have to get to Stevensville now!"

"But we can still get some new pants.. right?" Rango asked.

"Well of course, I think there's an American Apparel here." Sergio said back.

"Oh good." Rango replied; "I have a coupon."

03-21-2013, 12:40 AM
Hattori Hansomatic was cleaning the koi pond under the bridge in his foyer of Polly Pocket accessories, he had thought back to a few weeks ago when his daughter had forgotten all about the toys... his life was simple, less cluttered, and his wife was in a good mood.

"F$#kin' Sergio. All I hear about is, " Polly This! Bratz That!" What does that even mean!?" He was distracted by a beige truck headed up his driveway: " Ah hell no! This better not be anybody looking to talk about guitars [Beep! Name omitted for privacy] will kill me!"

As the truck came closer Hattori heard [Beep!] (for short) yell down: " Why is a Lands End truck coming up our driveway!!?? Oh like I'm not feeling old enough? Now you are shopping from Lands End!? There had better be some socks and closed toe shoes in the back of that truck or I'm........." Hattori walked out the front door before she could finish, he wasn't trying to be rude, but he knew where this was going.

"if there are any socks or non-flip-flop shoes in there, I'm not signing for anything." Hattori yelled at the driver.

The delivery ma...n..errum.. person? Stepped out and said; "We gotta go now! It's happening now! Don't you hear me?! We have to go NOW!!"

"Uh, Hey.. is that you Ned?.....errum.... I mean is that you Opraman... errum.. Doc?.... errum.. is that you Docraman?

"In the flesh!!!" said the creature now known as Docraman; " We have to head to Stevensville! El has contacted Sergio, Sergio has contacted the "Tree Bredren", Gilmore is at the factory... This is it! It's really happening!!"

Hattori jumped into the Lands End truck without hesitation; "We Ride!" he proclaimed.

"In a minute.. in a minute." Docraman said; "So it's legal in Colorado? I mean L-E-G-A-L... Legal?"

03-21-2013, 12:53 AM
The car phone in Red's RV went off; (Yes, I said car phone, not a cellphone, but a car phone) "Who is it? Snarf snarf" Red spat; "Oh, why yes, everything is going as planned. Will "Leo" be joining us there?"

Red was driving an RV filled with a half dozen each of mini leprechauns and Lohans straight to Stevensville.. The Ace Frehley cardboard cut out was riding shotgun.

"Yes, I see! Everything will get taken care of as per our agreement... Yes, the good doctor is on his way as well, I should be there by tomorrow night.... uh yeah, I have six of them, why?...sure I guess when we are done with them you could have one or two, but they'll eat you alive in cocaine... Okay, Goodbye."

The RV sped along on the interstate.

Then it stopped at a Chick-Fil-A for twenty minutes.

Then it sped back along the interstate.

03-21-2013, 02:28 AM
"You see... the cosmos if filled with our aura which in turn feeds plants, shelters the homeless, and creates the electricity of rainbows! Wo-Man kind is the manifestation of our godly duality...man." The room was quickly growing tired of hearing Carlos speak, well everybody but Knowles, he stood there nodding his head like he understood.. It's crazy what kind of crap you will listen to when you admire someone.

"I 'avent been on such a bad trip since that time with Syd an' Roger back in 69" Gilmore complained: " That Carlos Punter is a bit of a Chatty Cathy.. ain't he?" Even the "Tree Bredren" rolled their eyes at each other after hearing the same cosmic-babble for the last hour.

"Yeah, well at least he doesn't have your cellphone number." Paul said under his breath.

"What are we waiting for?" Sky..or was it Autumn? that said: "I thought we were all here?"

"Well not quite everyone." Paul said.

The rumble of a distant helicopter drew closer, the sound of a truck grew nearer, the sight of a stretch-stainless steel limo appeared on the horizon, and the stench from a recreational vehicle powered by diesel fuel and processed chicken flatulence filled the air: "Here they all are... right on time."

Paul opened the doors to the factory loading dock, he extended his hands into the air making a peaceful gesture to everyone letting them know everything was fine.

He welcomed Sergio, Rango, Frank, El and his lady-friend, Hattori, Docraman, and even Red too: "Welcome, welcome, I'm so glad all of you have decided to come." Paul addressed the what was by now becoming a crowd of people; "Welcome to what I like to call, the new..... PRE FACTORY EXPERIENCE!!!!"

The crowd looked at each other and by sheer instinct, or perhaps muscle memory started to slowly applaud.

"Today, the day before the Signature Club Thursday event, we invited you.. our most rabid customers, for a special event." Paul spoke to the crowd.

"What?!" El yelled: " I don't do fan club crap like this?! You know why we are all really here, don't you Paul?"

"Yeah! Give us "The One"! We have to defeat the leprechauns hoard, what are you doing letting Red and Docraman come in here for?" Rango yelled at Paul.

Knowles hid behind a pallet of SE amplifiers while Carlos, Sergio, Red, and Docraman huddled together in a circle that started to smell just like a Foghat concert did in 77.

"What about the three rasta guitars and the stolen Custom 24? What about the "tome" that El brought back? Why am I still wearing yoga pants!?" Rango exclaimed.

Paul tried to steer the crowd back into the corral by saying: "It's a super-members only kind of event that only you are a part of.... let me introduce.. the new NEW Paul's Guita...."

"Oh, Forget it Paul." A hush fell over the crowd, on the stairway above them stood a shadowy figure that said: " There is only one person, thanks to Sergio as always, that doesn't really know what's going on here."

He stepped out into the light and Rango leaned over to ask Frank: "Who's this guy?"

"You don't know Jack." Frank said.

"Don't be a jerk, I know I'm a little lost but..."

"No. I asked: You don't know Jack? It was a question." Frank replied to Rango

"JACK!.." Paul said: "Uh.. what are you doing here? I didn't hear you come in."

The shadowy figure was Jack Higgenbotham, President of PRS Guitars... or the guy who make sure everybody still has a job come monday morning and gives paul room to do his thing. He, much like Rango, was always being called "Dad" behind his back, but he took it in stride.. A true leader.

"Sorry to break it to you... ah what was your name?" Jack asked in the direction of Rango.

"Uh... Rango?" He replied.

"Sorry to break it to you.. Rango, but everybody here wants something from Paul, and they don't seem to mind doing whatever it takes to get it. For you see, this is no quest for "The One" guitar that can send the evil leprechaun back to his domain, it's an incantation they have used to leverage Paul into making them the ultimate personalized guitar:... "The Private Signature Limited Collection Stock!!!!!!"

"What?" Rango cried: "You were all just using me?!"

"Well in all fairness," David Gilmore said; "I'm only here because some bloke named MikeGarveyBlues..eh..um, ah whatever.. is holding my family hostage. I'm supposed to bring him back a guitar."

"Why?! What did I do?! Sergio!!! How could you do this to me?!" Rango was shaking now: "Look at me! I"ll never be like you... How could you?"

Sergio broke from the puff-puff-pass circle and sarcastically said to Rango; "No Rango... Obi Wan was wrong....I am your father!"

There was a second that passed as Carlos, Docraman, Red, and Sergio must have unanimously decided that was the funniest thing they had ever heard......

03-21-2013, 06:43 AM
Opraman smiled a very malevolent grin from his new secret hideout. All was going according to plan.

The clones were embedded in Stevensville. Paul and Co, were confident that all were accounted for, and all were under "company control".

Chefman was still making his way out of Eastern Europe and would be an easy mark, now that he was in possession of the sacred object. Unbeknowst to El, it had homing powers not unlike the monolith featured in "2001". Having been placed there many eons ago by a similar alien intelligence, it was now sending out signals to Opraman, providing the exact coordinates of Chefman's location.

Opraman paused, as he took another toke from his "medicine". Yes...he had duplicate prescriptions, and had one filled prior to returning to his secret location.

What to do next? He pondered. He paused, waiting for the Bill the dentist to recover from his daily "constitutional" with Nitrous Oxide. Bill would know what to do. He would write the final chapter, and ensure the denoument of civilization as we know it.

"Life is good" said Opraman aloud, as he blew smoke rings and hallucinated happy visions.

03-21-2013, 10:36 AM
Doc Bill Ruger reluctantly averted his gaze from Autumn Sky's almost irresistible profile. She and Davy were meant for each other, but a guy can look, can't he? He took a little solace in the knowledge that he alone knew how all the pieces fit together and what role each of the people gathered in Paul's huge open factory floor would play.

He excused himself from his conversation with David Grissom with a nod.

He made his way stealthily behind the toking circle and gave an almost imperceptible nod to Sergio. Sergio nodded to Carlos. Red and the Docraman clone missed both nods.

As Doc Ruger walked behind Sky Fall, he gave her a little pinch on her right butt cheek. Sky willed herself not to react to the memory of her former lover's touch and nodded at Gilmour who nodded at Knowles who nodded at Autumn.

Doc Bill shot a glance to Frank and caught his eye as he was chatting with Jack. Both nodded back.

Doc Bill nodded at Shawn who in turn nodded at Skitchy who nodded at…

Were it not for the first eight bars of Gilmour's song This Heaven playing softly over the gathering, all the nodding might have alerted Red and the lesser leprechauns and the clone of Docraman.

Slowly all the guitarists stepped backwards towards the walls, leaving Red, clone Docraman, the leprechauns and the Lindsay Lohan clones in the center dancing slowly and enjoying the ganja. The vamp from This Heaven was the perfect choice. It's combination of blues, rock and old fashioned bump and grind both soothed and distracted the small group in the center of the room as the rest reached behind various shop equipment and boxes for the new prototype guitars.

Upon arrival, Sergio had passed Ell's documents to Paul who had stealthily gone around the room and set the prototypes for the correct tone. With three narrow 408 pickups and three mini toggle switches each, the tone combinations were almost endless.

The toggle switches were three way switches. Up for split tones, down for humbucking and center to turn a pup off completely. Deftly he read the tone requirements and flipped switches as he had moved around the room. As he did, he dialed in amp settings on the HX/DAs to which the guitars were connected and set each amp master to about 6.

As the guitarists retrieved their guitars and strapped them on, only the Lindsay Lohan clones seemed to notice. They responded to the sight of the multiple guitars by starting to slowly remove their clothes.

Only Rango seemed to not know what would happen next, he was busy shuffling through groupons as Sergio looped a guitar offer his head and whispered, "E minor on my signal."

Everyone had their guitars and Doc Bill glanced around the room. He was to give the signal, but he needed to check something first. His eyes fell on Skitchy and he smiled. Sure enough, Skitchy was wearing a baritone with a Floyd Rose. "gotta love that guy," Ruger said to himself as they exchanged grins.

Doc Bill Ruger saw that Red was beginning to suspect that something was up. Red wasn't the brightest world destroyer, but he was smart enough to know that he was isolated in the middle of the room with a clone of Docraman, several naked Lindsay Lohan clones and a few tripping lesser leprechauns.

Doc Bill didn't wait for Red to act. He simultaneously punched a code into his prototype iWatch and drew his Glock. As the music switched from just vamping the beginning of This Heaven and the first lyrics came over the speakers, Doc Bill fired one shot.

A minor leprechaun fell dead just as Gilmour's lyric "All the pieces fall into place" in bar ten came over the speakers. The song stopped and the rest of the encircled enemy stood agape at the sprawling dead minion.

As one, the circle of guitars played a single chord. Well not exactly, almost everyone played a variation of E minor. Some were in cowboy position, some part way up the neck, some almost to the neck/body joints of their guitars.

But the Tree Bredren (Knowles, Gilmour and Grissom) all played F flat minor. Sure it sounds like E minor to just about everyone, but the Tree Bredren were all thinking F flat minor and that made all the difference.

Red knew music theory. Before his quest to dominate the world and kill all the studio engineers, he had been a Professor at the world renown Dublin School for the Musical Arts. The school perished on two counts. The first was that it only taught bagpipes and drums. The second was that it was limited only to the peculiar tuning for bagpipes which is between 476 to 480 Hz, roughly halfway between B flat and B. Red's ear, therefore, was keenly aware that most of the guitars were playing E minor, but in the mix were three playing F flat minor.

Red's knees buckled and he slammed his fingers into his ears willing the enharmonic cacophony in his head to stop, but it didn't.

The Lohan clones spontaneously combusted as they tried to smoke a combination of mouse poison, Beno and Spotted Dick. The leprechauns began popping into little puffs of green mist one by one until they were gone. The Docraman clone stood and whimpered.

With the Lohans in ashes, his leprechaun minions vaporized and Docraman immobile, Red wailed. "Snarf! Snarf! Make it STOP! I'll do ANYTHING! I'll even teach bagpipes again!"

Red's eyes widened as he spotted Skitchy and the baritone. "NOOOOOO!," he wailed. But it was too late. Skitchy had the bar of the Floyd Rose cupped in his hand as he strummed the chord again. Skitchy simultaneously thought E minor AND F flat minor as he dive bombed the baritone a full 3 octaves ending halfway between B and B flat.

It was just too much for Red and he popped leaving a huge cloud of green mist.

The clone of Docraman moaned as the mist stained his '70s era white polyester leisure suit the color of fluorescent pea soup. Before he could do anything, Sergio let loose with the transgender ray gun and the clone poofed into a mist of green and white. The weapon was set to "BN" which Sergio had discovered stood for Bennett Normal. The clone was empathically linked to the real Docraman who felt the effects of the beam immediately.

Without knowing or remembering, Doc Bennet left his secret lair and made his way to a clone house on a clone street in New Jersey. There he found a clone of his wife and dog Arf waiting for him. He settled into a clone chair in his clone workshop and logged onto the Forum. "Gimme an 'F' ," he typed with no minor bit of irony. The world for him was back to normal.

Ell and Lena rolled around in a bed filled with polaroid photos. "These things are just for us, Lena. No one has ever successfully made a quality dupe of a polaroid." Lena nibbled on his ancient ear.

In the factory there was celebration. "Shepard's Pie for everyone!," Paul said and was surprised to be buried in a pile of thrown, stinging guitar picks. "I should have said 'Jameson'?"

Doc Ruger looked over to two women dancing while their husbands talked guitar.






"I bet those things could cut glass," Doc Ruger said to himself with a grin.


03-21-2013, 11:00 AM
Many thanks to my fellow authors. I hope everyone enjoyed themselves!

03-21-2013, 01:16 PM
Coda and epilogue....

In a small, nondescript hotel room, somewhere in Eastern Europe, Lena looked up with dismay.

"It's soft again" she whimpered.

"Told you what 787 years on the road does to a man" replied El, as he shuffled off to the bathroom to change his diapers.

"Pampers, or Depends?" he muttered to himself, while humming a tune that was a popular marching song during WW1 as the German Troops moved towards the Kaiser.

"regardless, they will fit perfectly on......


03-21-2013, 01:55 PM
......... But El Chefman will return in: "The Ballad of Ned the Destroyer."

03-21-2013, 02:57 PM
I have no clue what's next - but I'm pretty sure it will start with a murder.....

Maybe a character based on Bennett will work with us the next time instead of against us....

03-21-2013, 03:42 PM
Great story chaps!

I'll try and get more into the next one... This one moved along too quick for me to take note of what was what.

Did Gilmour bring me back the guitar? :)

03-21-2013, 03:48 PM
Great story chaps!

I'll try and get more into the next one... This one moved along too quick for me to take note of what was what.

Did Gilmour bring me back the guitar? :)

Yes he did, and it was a blue USA Mardsen.

03-21-2013, 05:42 PM
Yes he did, and it was a blue USA Mardsen.

A truly beautiful end to this story I feel! ;)

03-21-2013, 09:33 PM
Well done, gentlemen!