 
# The Black Fossil

Rodney Mountain

Smashwords Edition

The Black Fossil

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All Rights Reserved

Copyright 2004 by Rodney Mountain

Music Copyrights

Oops I Did It Again (c)2000 Written by Yacoub/Sandberg

If I Only Had A Brain (c)1939 Written by Arlen/Harburg

I'd Do Anything For Love (c)1993 Written By Jim Steinman

My Name Is (c)1999 Written by Young/Siffre/Mathers

Always Look on the Bright Side of Life (c)1979 Written by Eric Idle

All Parody Lyrics (c) 2004 Rodney Mountain

The author claims no ownership of the music or original lyrics, just fair use via parody.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

## Other Titles by Rodney Mountain

Immortal Universe Novels

The Healy Murders

Durell's Insurrection

The Accidental Immortal

Undercover

The Killer Strikes

Anoki's Revenge

The Immortal Progression

Corporate Immortality

Not With a Whisper

The Mullinix: Ascension

The Mullinix: Redemption

The Mullinix: Resolution

Other Works

Night Strike (Short Story Anthology)

The Black Fossil

## Dedication

This book is dedicated to all of you poor souls who made the attempt to do National Novel Writing Month. Win or lose, you made the attempt and did the damn near impossible. This book is the result of my first attempt at it and thanks to the severe annoyance and the lack of sleep I had during this time it will most likely be my last attempt at it. But like all of you nano winners, I can claim I won.

## Foreword

It's been nearly seven years since I went through this experience and time has given me a new perspective on just how truly insane it is to try to write a coherent novel in just thirty days. The fact that I finished five days early doesn't really say much for my sanity at the time.

I've written a total of thirteen books and a fairly lengthy short story compilation and I'm still not sure what to do with this one. It is in stark contrast to my usual style that is for sure. Usually I go for anything between action/adventure, mild science fiction or even Epic Fantasy with the Mullinix Trilogy.

If you downloaded this book expecting to find more of the same, well... You're going to be disappointed. This book is probably the craziest thing I have ever written. This is from someone who routinely writes about serial killers and immortals, so let me tell you that is really crazy.

The Black Fossil is a comedy. It was intended to be the literary equivalent of the bastard love child of Leslie Nielsen and Monty Python. In some ways I think it succeeds admirably, in others I mainly cringe when I reread or even think about it.

I did notice after finishing the final edit that I'd made a lot of Michael Jackson jokes. I guess this was because I'd seen a lot of stuff about his trial on TV while writing this. Unfortunately, the jokes are nowhere near as funny now as they seemed to be before he died.

All in all, this book is good for a few chuckles and certainly is not the worst thing I have ever written. If you take it for what it was intended to be it is a cheap bit of entertainment (especially since I plan on releasing it for free).

In the end it all added up to be a National Novel Writing Month winner, which is exactly what it was intended to be. So kick back, have a few cheap laughs and enjoy a light comedy with some really, really, really stupid jokes.

-Rodney Mountain, August 3, 2011

PS: Try not to groan too much at the song parodies that I used mainly to burn word count when I couldn't figure out what to do next. I did this mess on a nasty timeline, remember...

## Author's Note

I started the Black Fossil on a whim and a dare from my wife. As I stated in the dedication I wrote it to satisfy the insane desire to write a novel in thirty days. As I have been writing novels for nearly five years now as a hobby I made it my goal to have something at least reasonably publishable by the time the thirty days had passed.

Unfortunately I didn't realize when I started the project just how much drive that was going to include. But I still laugh when I read it and I think you will too. What you're getting is almost exactly what I had when I finished it on November 25th after a long and grueling 8000 word end run.

I've edited it to the point of fixing any spelling and grammatical errors that I could find myself and/or had the grammar checker find for me. I also repaired a few minor continuity errors. The plot, or lack thereof, is original and can be taken as what I originally intended.

God help you all.

\--Rodney Mountain, Thursday, 12/2/04

## Prologue – A Long Time Ago in a Place Far, Far away...

"It is magnificent," the generically named man said about the black object on the altar, "I just wish I knew what it was!"

"Same for the language we're speaking," his odd friend agreed, "I don't think we've ever spoken anything like this before."

"Of course you haven't," The Author told them, "I can't have you speak your normal language. None of my readers would understand it!"

"Who are you?" the generically named man asked.

"The guy writing this piece of crap," The Author said, "Now get focused on that black object. It's the only reason you two morons exist."

"Ok," his odd friend said, "No need to get nasty about it."

"So since it appears that we're here to be a piece of expository pains in the ass," the generically named man said, "I guess we should do something with this thing on the altar."

"Hmmm," his odd friend said, "Yes, I guess we might want to do that. Still, why would anyone be concerned about a frightfully dull piece of blackened fossil?"

"Because by the time the real main characters deal with it," The Author told them, "It will be old and coveted by everyone in the book. This is what we authors laughingly call a plot. Now do your part and do something weird with it that will establish the conflict for my book."

"Touchy," the generically named man said, "But since he is the one signing our checks I guess we should do something."

"Quite," his odd friend said, "But what?"

"Think of something," The Author said impatiently, "And try to take about 1500 words in doing it. I've only got 30 days to write this piece of garbage and you two morons are part of it. Now move!"

"Very well," the generically named man sighed, "Shall we pack up that piece of garbage and drag it off somewhere?"

"Yes," his odd friend agreed, "Why don't we drag it through the village and brag about some nonexistent magic powers that we know this black fossilized piece of junk doesn't have, but our dumb ass brethren will believe and send down the centuries as folklore that will somehow go unexplored until some idiot in the future gets it in his head to find this thing."

"Sounds like a lovely idea," the generically named man agreed, "Too bad it is too heavy for us to lift."

"Did you have to make it so big?" his odd friend asked the author.

"I had to make up for your small penis somehow," The Author said, "Now stop complaining and move that thing!"

"Rude fellow, isn't he?" the generically named man said, "Still, seeing as he is paying us so well and all..."

"You get that side," his odd friend said, "I'll get this side. We'll drag it through town and see if we can find a leper to cure or something like that."

"I'm thinking more a hot blonde with sexual dysfunction to cure," the generically named man said, "If we're dragging this thing around we should get some."

Twenty Minutes Later...

"Well that little piece of unpleasantness is done," the generically named man said, "Why is it that all villagers in these books are gullible idiots who believe everything that someone dragging a large black fossilized thing tell them?"

"I don't know," his odd friend said, rubbing his jaw, "I don't think that thing does a thing for sexual dysfunction, however..."

"You're just sore that I'm waiting for later in the book to include the obligatory sex scene," The Author said, "Now you need to put it someplace that it is plausible for something that big and black to be lost for centuries until I need it again."

"But we don't have theatres showing Gigli here anymore!" the generically named man exclaimed, "Not that I have a clue what that means being from when I am."

"When are we?" his odd friend asked.

"Didn't you read the beginning?" the generically named man asked him, "Prologue – A Long Time Ago in a Place Far, Far away..."

"Oh yeah," his odd friend remembered, "Very well then. I guess we should find a place to hide it."

"Good," The Author said, "It's about time you did something useful other than increase my word count. Now go hide that thing like good little mooks."

"What's a mook?" the generically named man asked.

"Don't ask," The Author said, "It'll explain itself later."

The generically named man and his odd friend dragged the black fossil for miles upon miles, thereby tiring themselves out and leaving many legends back in their village. The Blonde with sexual dysfunction became the town slut and the entire population rejoiced and sang songs about the generically named man, his odd friend and the Black Fossil.

"That's nice," the generically named man said, "But I'm tired now. Can we hide the fossil and go home?"

"Have you hidden it yet?" his odd friend asked, "Really, really well?"

"Well enough that you'll never find it," the generically named man said, "I will never find it either, but that's ok. I want to go home and take advantage of that cured blonde."

"Sounds like a plan," his odd friend said, "Now what is that I see in the distance there?"

"It is your call to mookdom," The Author said, "I really can't have you around telling everyone where you hid the black fossil now can I?"

"Hey!" the generically named man said, "I have a blonde to go take advantage of! Don't I at least get a run around with her?"

"Nope," The Author said, "The only one who gets laid is the hero. And you, my generically named mook, are not him. Besides, you haven't wasted near enough words."

"Let me get laid and I'll waste some words!" the generically named man said, "Come on!"

"You know," his odd friend said, "I think that blonde is now my sister. I don't like the way you are talking about her!"

"When did this happen?" the generically named man asked, "I didn't think you had a sister."

"I do now," his odd friend said, "I guess that's what is odd about me."

"Don't give me that crap!" the generically named man said, "You wanted to do her too!"

"Those are fighting words!" his odd now ex-friend said, "Put em up!"

"You want me to fight you?" the generically named man said, "But why?"

"To defend the honor of my sister!" the now enraged odd ex-friend said, "You must die now, you generically named mook!"

"But you have no name either," the generically named man said logically, "That means you may be a mook too."

"What the hell is a mook?" The odd ex-friend type guy asked, "Will anyone answer that before I kill this asshole?"

"Sure," The Author said, "A mook is a generic person that is generally there to be cannon fodder for the hero or for the villain."

"But they aren't here!" the generically named man and his odd ex-friend exclaimed, "Are they?"

"No," The Author admitted, "But you two are going to kill each other before you can explain that lack of logic!"

At this point the generically named man and his odd ex-friend started to wail on each other in a rather impressive display of futility. Neither one was very good at fighting, but it doesn't take all that much to be good enough to write a paragraph about their rather pointless demise. Both men died quickly and uselessly because I was getting bored of their antics.

"Damn you!" the generically named man said, "Whoever you are!"

"I'll be back!" his odd now dead ex-friend said, "Count on it!"

"Of course you will," The Author admitted, "I can always use a good mook. I'm sure I'll bring you back to get killed again sometime. But for now I've wasted about 1300 or so words, so we're looking good. I have the beginnings of what I so laughingly call a plot and there is no one who knows about it except anyone who has sat through this opening. Now just croak in a puff of futility and all will be good!"

So they did. In a puff of futility the generically named man and his odd ex-friend died of their injuries and their bones were scattered to the winds over time, leaving nothing except the all important legend and the unknown hiding place of the black fossil. Not to mention many happy villagers in the town where the blonde neo-slut lived for the rest of her days.

## Chapter I – Jim Stalin Returns!

James Buchanan Stalin walked in to his non-descript government office at nearly ten in the morning. His hair, which would be perfect if not for the bit of mess that resulted from it being combed improperly, was pushed back revealing a ruggedly handsome face that, while it would not compete with Brad Pitt was one that most comely women would not kick out of their beds.

"What's going on, Jim?" one of his coworkers asked, "Hot date last night?"

"I wish," Jim said, "Estelle would kill me if I did."

"Estelle?" the coworker said, "I thought her name was Sandra?"

"I thought it was June," another one said, "And your son Ray?"

"Who cares," Jim shrugged, "You'll never see them unless the author gets hard up enough for ideas that he decides to use them as plot bait. This section is about introducing me to all those people out there who are actually reading this piece of drivel."

"It could be worse," Alexandra Diminova said, revealing herself to be an important piece of scenery by getting an actual name, "You could have been a victim in one of his earlier books."

"At least your name didn't come out of a name generator," another nameless coworker put in, "That is worse than being nameless, I think."

"Well since we've established that I look like hell and the author is a hack," Jim Stalin said, "What exactly am I supposed to be doing here? I take it that I have a job of some sort?"

"I'm sure you do," Alexandra said, taking over from all the other nameless co-workers, "But I've never figured out what it is. It really doesn't matter, as we're going to be doing things completely unrelated to whatever your official job is anyway."

"That works," Jim agreed, "So what is my job now?"

"To follow me and try not to look too stupid before anyone gets to know you," Alexandra said, "It'll give people a chance to get familiar with you."

Jim shrugged and followed along. The rest of the workers in the government office went back to their meaningless jobs while Jim brought himself into the hallway where Alexandra was walking. She was rather good looking for a government drone, he thought. She smiled as she realized he was looking at her ass. Maybe there was hope for the man yet.

Jim ducked through a door that was just shorter than his six foot one inch frame. He was not in bad shape for a fair to middling governmental employee, which was good and proper since he rarely did the fair to middling government job that he was officially employed doing. Aside from being tall and white there was absolutely nothing especially out of the ordinary about James Stalin.

"So what are we up to?" Jim asked her, "This isn't another case of my being called to save the world as a junior level bureaucrat is it?"

"Nothing that obvious," Alexandra said, "We just wanted to show you off a bit and let you have a good look at my ass before we throw you to the wolves."

"Nice to know you care," Jim said, "Where's the boss?"

"He's in the office at the end of the hall," Alexandra shrugged, "I didn't just bring you down the hallway to look at my ass."

"It was a nice view anyway," Jim smiled, "You coming in to the office?"

"Sure," Alexandra shrugged, "Why not. The Admiral could use some eye candy."

"You sell yourself short," Jim said, "You're more than that."

"You're right," Alexandra nodded, "I speak four languages, can type two hundred words a minute and can make a man whimper with just a caress and a whisper. But, like every other woman of my type in these books, I'm just a pretty face and a nice ass for the idiot hero types like you to ogle and be slightly amused by."

"I can live with that," Jim grinned, "Come on, eye candy."

Alexandra made a face and opened the door to Admiral Sackenbrenner's office. The admiral, who for a man of about sixty looked a good thirty years older, looked up as his younger employees walked into the room. Both Jim and Alexandra had to do their best to avoid coughing at the thick plume of smoke that surrounded the Admiral's desk. Despite the prohibition against smoking in public buildings he still smoked those disgusting cigars as if he was afraid that he wouldn't be able to smoke them all before he died.

"Here's Jim," Alexandra said, "As you requested."

"Good," the admiral croaked, "I hope you don't have anything planned in the next few days."

"I'd planned on spending some time with my wife Julie," Jim shrugged, "Nothing I can't do later."

"I though her name was Jody," Alexandra said.

"Whatever," Jim said, "So why am I here enduring your carcinogenic smoke?"

"You and Alex will be going to an exotic locale to be named later," Admiral Sackenbrenner said, "Your job, officially will be to go to a boring and pointless conference, but you have another mission while you are there."

"What would that be?" Alexandra asked, "Hopefully it has nothing to do with my ass..."

"As fun as that would be," Jim said, "I think I can guess that it is something else."

"You think you're so smart," Sackenbrenner said, "Just tell me what you think it is secret agent smarty-pants?"

"Easy," Jim said, "I'm going to get myself inextricably embroiled in whatever harebrained plot the yet to be revealed villain has in store."

"And I get to be eye candy, of course," Alexandra said sourly, "What is so great about this overblown oaf with the luck of the Irish and the brains of a snail?"

"He has a cool name that will look good on a book cover," the Admiral choked, "Not to mention his name is listed in the chapter heading."

"At least you aren't a mook," Jim grinned, "Though I bet I'll be seeing some of them later."

"You have tickets on one of those rickety little twin engine jobs that shouldn't have made it out of the hanger, yet they expect you to ride to the island with," the admiral told them, "Be sure to hang on to both cheeks tightly and hope you land safely."

"Thanks," Jim said, walking to the door, "Coming Alex?"

"Yeah," Alexandra moped, "I'm on my way. Why do I have a bad feeling about this?"

"Because you're here," Jim said, "It's an adventure! Let's go have some!"

"I'd rather have a chocolate sundae," Alexandra mumbled as they left the office.

## Chapter II – A Rickety Plane

"Jim," Alex asked her partner, "Do you have a bad feeling about this?"

"Sure I do," Jim agreed, "But look out there at that plane. That glorious piece of fifty year old technology is going to bring us flawlessly to our destination."

"Which is what?" Alex wondered, "Admiral Sackenbrenner never told me where we're going."

"Why should he?" Jim asked, "It's not like that smoke bag has any control over it. He's just there to give us instructions and show disapproval at various things."

"Not to mention he's a bit of comic relief," Alex nodded, "Ok, I can see that. But if I get cancer from his smoke..."

"We're about to go on an adventure," Jim chuckled, "That is probably the safest thing we'll do. Worry about dying now, not thirty years from now."

They walked through the airport and went to the shabby end where the cheap airline that their government agency required them to use whenever they traveled outside of the unknown state that their office was supposedly located in. Since no one could figure out what they do they decided to make sure that no one would ever figure out where they were either.

"Welcome to Airbland Airlines," the clerk said with a winning smile and her fingers crossed behind her back, "Welcome to your doom... er... um... Welcome to your flight, Mr. Stalin. Where will you and your lovely partner be traveling today?"

"Two one-way tickets to the stereotypical island of adventure stories please," Jim told her, "Bill them to Admiral Sackenbrenner's personal credit card, as usual. He loves the tax breaks he can get from the flights."

"Not to mention the frequent flyer miles," Alexandra muttered, "Though he wouldn't fit through the door here now."

"All righty then," the clerk said, "I have your one-way tickets to the stereotypical island of adventure stories. I would tell you what gate you'd be disembarking on, but I have no doubt that you will be leaving the plane early for some reason so it really would be quite pointless."

"Sounds about right," Jim agreed, "I'm sure I'll find some reason to crash the plane on or near the runway. Thank you very much!"

"Wait!" Alexandra said, "What about our luggage?"

"Don't worry," Jim told her, "They'll lose it as usual. No problem at all. Come on, we've got a plane to ride on and adventures to get underway!"

"Yeah," she sighed, "You have nothing to worry about. You're the hero of the story. They aren't going to kill you immediately. I'm just one step above a mook. If the audience gets sick of looking at my ass I could die a horrible death."

"Eh," Jim shrugged, "Don't worry about it. You could turn out to be the bad guy hiding in my entourage and become a very important corpse. You're not a mook yet, at any rate. So let's go and have some fun!"

They walked out onto the tarmac and went through the lackluster security easily. Security for these planes is very lax due to the fact that if anyone bothered to hijack them no one would care. The plane would fall apart long before it could hit a building hard enough to do any damage.

"Mmm," Jim said, "The smell of rot, decay and 1940's aeronautic technology. Let the adventure begin."

"Welcome," a man with a rather generic foreign accent said, "I will be your steward today on your flight to the islands. I may also double as your mook, depending on whether the action takes a turn that way."

"Very nice," Jim said, "I am Jim and I will be your passenger and maybe the cause of your death today."

"Very good sir," the possible mook agreed, "Seeing as there is no first class go ahead and take a seat anywhere you like. It's not like anyone else is going to get on this plane with you here."

Alexandra looked outside and saw every other person holding a ticket for this plane running to the terminal and looking for a refund. She did not know if it was because of their presence or because they got their first look at the plane. Frankly, it could have been either one.

"Why do I not like this?" she mumbled.

Seeing as the ancient plane was nearly empty, they took seats across from each other and Jim put up some seat dividers to get comfortable. He had ridden on these planes before, so he did not mind the noise or the occasional falling bolt. He had no reason to worry as he knew his name was on the chapter headings.

The plane took off without a hitch, however, though it did belch some smoke and go through a loop every two hundred miles. Alexandra learned to keep her seatbelt on after the second loop, though Jim managed to stay in his seat and read the entire stack of Archie Comic books he had brought with him.

"How can you read that crap on this plane?" Alex asked him, "It's falling apart around us!"

"I'm not worried about it," Jim shrugged, "I like Archie comics."

"Oh?" Alexandra said, forgetting her panic, "Did Archie ever get to do Veronica?"

"No," Jim said sadly, "That doesn't come out until the Japanese version does..."

While they were staring together at the comics trying to figure out if Veronica was actually wearing any underwear in a particular frame the possible mook came out of the cockpit. Seems that he wasn't a steward as we first thought, but since we don't feel like introducing new characters he is the pilot and definitely a mook now.

"Jim Stalin!" he yelled as he came out wielding a large machete, "You killed my brother! I must now kill you and your very attractive female friend!"

"Who was your brother again?" Jim asked, not looking up from the comic, "And why did I kill him?"

"You think they're going to waste this much time with back story for a mook like me?" the mook asked, "Let's just stipulate that you killed him and now I'm going to try to kill you for it!"

"Ok," Jim shrugged, a bit bored by the rather routine battle that was going to come, "But you're the pilot. Who is running the plane?"

"The trained monkey," The mook said, "Now are you going to put down that comic and fight me?"

"I guess I don't have a choice," Jim sighed, "Can I finish my comic book first? We have a couple hours before we land."

"No!" the mook insisted, "You must die now!"

"I swear," Jim said, looking at Alexandra, "These mooks have no patience."

Alexandra decided to back up, knowing that in the grand scheme of things she was not going to be that valuable to the plot. Jim read another panel of the comic book, but was too slow in putting it down before the mook made it to him. The mook's face showed great rage, so much so that Alexandra had to wonder just how special that brother was.

"You die now!" the mook yelled, "Prepare for slaughter!"

"Can't you say anything else?" Jim asked him, "Now let me find out how this ends..."

The mook did not give him a chance to finish. He sliced the comic book in half with the sharp, spooky looking machete that he had carried with him from the cockpit and made an evil face at Jim Stalin. This was the final straw for Stalin as he stood up and bared his pearly white perfect teeth at the mook.

"You are that ready to die?" Jim Stalin asked him, "Well mook, I guess I can oblige you..."

Jim stood up and glared at the mook. The mook raised his machete up as he was sure that he had a clear shot at Stalin's head and neck. He swung the blade down and nearly managed to hit Stalin before our hero managed to duck down and take the blade flat on the top of his head. The mook was surprised when he heard a clang emanate from his target.

"Dude," Jim Stalin said, grinning a little, "I lost the top of my skull to an accident years ago. I've had a metal plate for ten years now."

Jim smacked the mook with a heavy punch into the stomach and pushed him back into the aisle. He then wiped the spot of blood off from where the blade had hit him and tasted it in a very telling fashion. He made a show of it and then let off a vicious kick to the mook's balls.

"That's for Archie," Jim said, watching the mook fall down onto the floor, "Now let's get some payback for Veronica!"

Alexandra watched as the two men started fighting. She did not intend to get involved, as she knew that if she did it was likely to come out badly. Jim did not notice her lack of help as he was too busy beating on the poor mook. The mook fought back, but being as early in the story as it was there was really no hopes of him to do anything more than make a show.

"Hey!" Jim exclaimed as he continued beating on the mook, "I'm spending my energy on this bastard with all my might. You can at least describe some of it rather than cutting it short so you can go play a video game!"

"Very well," the Author sighed, "Continue. Just make it quick. My video game calls."

Jim continued with a savage beating on the mook, mainly because the mook didn't have the good sense to quit. Alexandra avoided a few tumbles as the plane shook a bit. She wondered briefly if she should go and try to save the plane from crashing, as she knew it probably would if autopilot was maintained.

Jim and the mook made their way up to the front and Alexandra knew that she had better try to get past them to keep the plane in the air. She had no illusions about her ability to survive a crash of a plane this old. She saw that she was getting nowhere and decided to do something about it.

"Hold it!" Alexandra shrieked, "Chill out for a moment while I go check the cockpit!"

Jim and the mook stopped in mid punch and looked over at her while Jim continued to hold the mook by the neck.

"Hehehe," the mook giggled, "She said cockpit... I bet hers is nice..."

"Maybe if I get lucky I'll find out later," Jim grinned, "Cock pit... hehehe..."

"Men," Alexandra said as she went past them and slid into the pilot's seat.

Jim and the mook continued fighting while Alexandra fought with the pilot's controls. The ancient plane of course did not like the fact that it was still flying and the fact that planes that old did not really even have autopilot meant that it was going all over the place.

"Can you keep this thing steady?" Jim yelled, "I'm trying to kill a mook here!"

The mook pushed Jim back and actually managed to connect a lucky shot to the nose. Jim looked up and cursed the author's sense of humor as he kicked the mook in the balls one more time just to make up for the fact that everyone was getting sick of this.

"That one is for Veronica," Jim said, "Now we need a way to end this."

"I think we're going to crash!" Alexandra exclaimed, "We're going down and there is no way to pull it up!"

"Flash it!" Jim exclaimed, "That is enough to get anything up!"

"Oh darn!" the mook yelled, "I think we're going to hit that tree!"

"Tree?" Alexandra said, "What tree?"

"The one that I see coming through the side window!" the Mook said, "Oh my god!"

"Pray to him," Jim said, "You're about to meet him."

Defying all laws of physics the plane dropped like a rock straight down on top of a tree that penetrated the ancient fuselage of the plane through the left side. This tree, of course, went straight through the mook's chest and impaled him to the other side of the plane.

Jim, who was standing right next to the mook, was of course unscratched by this fall, though he landed in a rather unflattering position on the ground. The big question and one that we do not intend to answer until the next chapter is the fate of Alexandra Diminova. Standards dictate that we must leave some suspense so she is it.

## Chapter III – Where the Hell Are We?

Jim Stalin pulled himself off the fuselage that had become his home after the highly improbable fall to the ground. He straightened out his hair and stood upright, getting a seat arm in the face for his trouble. He looked at the tree and the mook's blood stain and thought that it was actually a rather cool end to the fight after all.

"I guess I'd better see if Alexandra survived," Jim said, knowing his cues as if they were written on the back of his hand, "Otherwise it is going to be a long, lonely walk back into civilization."

Jim managed to push the sideways cockpit door open and crawl inside. Alexandra was still strapped into her seat, the position being a bit unflattering for her but she was still very much alive. She breathed a sigh of relief that she had not passed into premature mookdom and looked at Jim.

"Can you get me out of here?" Alexandra asked him, "I'll be your new best friend!"

"I didn't realize I had an old one," Jim said, "But I see your angle. You're heading for the lady sidekick role that is more likely to keep you alive and kicking."

"Beats the pretty friend who died to give you a reason for revenge, doesn't it?" Alex asked him reasonably, "I mean at this point I could be either. I'd rather see if I can push my way to the better deal."

"Just see that you don't price yourself out of the market," Jim warned, "We heroes don't like competition."

Jim and Alexandra got up and walked out of the plane through a big gaping hole in the back side. Seeing as it fell straight down like a rock there was a nice convenient hole ready for them to walk out of onto a clear patch of ground. Of course, there was a nice set scene of debris to make it look wondrous that they survived this rather horrific crash. It really did make a great scene, too bad all you get to do is read about it in this stupid book.

"Where are we?" Jim asked Alexandra, hoping she'd be the fountain of knowledge since it had been decided that he wouldn't be, "I don't recognize this place."

"This is the unrecognizable island of plane crashes," Alex told him, "The deserted place that you just happened to be lucky enough to be over when the author needed you to crash the plane and not die."

"Silly me," Jim said, "I should have guessed that."

They walked around for a while and tried to figure out what they needed to do next. Since it was obvious that a few words needed to be wasted, the author put in this scene of them walking around aimlessly while he tried to figure out what idiocy to put them up to on this ridiculously simple island.

"I guess we'd best continue wandering around for a while," Jim said, "They have no idea of what to do so that means it must be time for either a video game or to introduce the villain of the story."

"That works," Alex said, "I need a break anyway."

On the other side of the island in a puff of unrealistic coincidental happenstance a group of people popped into a sudden existence. They would all have been rather surprised at it had they had time to think about it. Two men and a woman headed the group, their positions obvious to everyone around them as they were the only ones to have any inkling what their names were.

"Are you sure the thing is supposed to be here?" James Mickenbacher asked his cohorts, "We've been looking for this unknown important object for how long now?"

"Years? Days? Centuries?" Adam Dirtpassion shrugged, "How about you, Reizvolle?"

"Longer than you could dream of," Reizvolle Dirne said, her voice cooed in a really sexy German accent, "But then, knowing you that is only a few moments, Adam."

"Very nice, Reizvolle," Adam said, "Insult my manhood in the first few moments of our existence."

"It's a talent," she said, her blue eyes showing a bit of mischief, "Now we need to find this unknown important object before we get lost again."

The group of men around them gulped a little, knowing that since only those three got names they were going to be the island mooks. The three leaders, now clad in appropriate island gear, started their search in earnest for the very important object.

"That is the nice thing about mooks," Adam said, "They work until the end of time for you."

"They're cheap as well," James agreed, "They never live long enough to cash their paychecks."

They made a show of walking around searching for clues and doing anything to make it look like they have a clue of what they were looking for. Of course, since they just came into existence a few minutes earlier it was not as if they had much advance time to even think about this entire thing.

"Adam," Reizvolle asked, "Why are we looking for this?"

"Because it will get us one step closer to the black fossil," Adam Dirtpassion reminded her, "That's why we all just popped out of the dark imaginary void to be here on this ridiculous island. We have a mission, young lady! That mission is a paramount one, to find the Black Fossil for our own nefarious deeds before the hero of the story can get it for his own not so nefarious deeds."

"Thank you," she nodded, "That makes a little more sense. Wasn't there another bad guy here a few minutes ago?"

"I'm still here," the formerly named bad guy said, "But evidently the author is writing this section at a location where he doesn't have access to the original text. He remembers your names but has utterly forgotten mine."

"That does not bode well for you, man," Adam said, "I guess this means the hero is here and you are not going to be with us long."

"A named mook," Reizvolle said, shaking her head, "I do hope your death is not too revolting."

"Funny," he said, "You're a barrel of laughs."

"Well," Adam said, "Since we're here to be searching for an artifact, let's get a move on. It must be here somewhere."

"Of course it is," Reizvolle agreed, "But you know damned well that the idiot hero will stumble upon it first before we can find it."

"Of course he will," Adam agreed, "That's the beauty of this sort of story. People take outrageous coincidences lightly as if they could actually happen in real life. I mean what are the odds of a plane crashing and dropping a hero on the same island we three really bad people are searching for an artifact on?"

"In this story," Reizvolle cooed, "No less than 130%."

"Exactly," Adam agreed, "Now let's go wander around while the story refocuses on the main characters."

And without a lick of warning the focus jumps back on to Jim Stalin and Alexandra Diminova, who was caught picking her nose for her trouble. She looked up and noticed that the focus was back on them, nudging Jim to put down the torn remains of the Archie Comic.

"I think we're up again," Alex told him, "We'd best do something."

"Of course we should," Jim said, "But he should get his butt moving on this."

"Be nice," Alex told him, "I think he broke a rib this week, yet he is still taking the time to work on this idiotic story."

"Point," Jim agreed, "Ok. Let's go look around and see whether we can do something that will make this interesting enough to be worth the pain he's feeling as he sits up to type this ridiculous thing."

They made a show of looking around and stumbling around in things they knew nothing about because they had no reason to take any special care of themselves. Jim was just thinking about how nice the weather on this so-called island was until he realized that he was no longer walking on solid soil.

"Oh boy," Jim said and looked at Alex, "Why do I feel like the Wile E. Coyote right now?"

"Because you're about to fall like him," Alex grinned, "Have a nice fall."

Jim fell down about twenty five feet into a rather exotic looking tunnel. Being a fair to middling government bureaucrat in his professional life he had no idea of archeology, which is good because this probably doesn't match any archeologist's idea of an ancient tunnel anyway.

"You ok?" Alex asked, knowing full well that Jim would be fine, "And what the hell is that?"

"Something we need to look closer at," Jim shouted up to her, "What else would it be? Climb on down here. You're going to be left behind as the focus is going to stay on me down here in the dark."

Alexandra frowned and managed to climb her way down using some vines and handholds that by some miracle did not give way and send her tumbling down. Jim was waiting for her, tapping his foot in exasperation at the slow female that he was tied down with.

"I swear," Jim said, "You women are slow. I mean I was waiting with my wife Janet the other day..."

"I thought her name was Tracy!" Alexandra exclaimed.

"Whatever," Jim said, "Let's just go on down this tunnel."

They walked down the appropriately spooky tunnel that was decked out with the requisite cobwebs and the occasional skeleton. Alexandra worried about traps and stayed behind Jim, knowing that even if they were there they probably would not be set to hit him.

Despite not having the foresight to bring flashlights or torches with them there was enough ambient light from unknown sources to make it so they could see the creepy surroundings. Had this been a movie and not a bunch of words on the paper they would have used a skeleton bone to make a crude torch. The fact that there is no light needed other than what the reader uses to see the words makes it easier for them to operate unencumbered.

"Stop trying to pad the word count and write something interesting," Jim told the author, "We know we're in a dark creepy place. Now let's do something interesting."

"Here, here," Alex grinned, "Put him in his place."

"Watch it," the author told Alex, "I haven't decided if you're a named mook or not yet."

Alexandra gulped and decided to keep her mouth shut. Jim chuckled and went further down the tunnel and saw a pool of water. The water was, of course, slightly dirty and something that no reasonable person would want to touch, let alone wade through. But the characters were dumb enough to ask for something interesting, so they are going to have to wade through it before they get there.

"Thanks," Jim said, "I appreciate it."

Jim and Alex waded through the rather disgusting water in order to make it to the other side. In addition to giving the main character a bit of humility (of which he had little), it had the nice effect of making Alex's shirt cling to her rather well formed body. When they crawled out onto the other side the water had proved to be cold enough to show her attributes in a clean way.

"Nice," Jim said as he admired the view, "You know, if I wasn't married..."

"Later," Alex said, still annoyed at being wet, "You'd think they could at least make the disgusting water a bit warm."

"Nah," Jim said, "The results are better this way."

Alex responded by flinging a bit of mud at him. Jim chuckled and continued his walking. They went through some more creepy tunnels before stumbling upon quite by accident what Reizvolle, Adam and James were looking for. It did not look like much, especially since it was only supposed to be a simple clue to the vaunted Black Fossil, which, if you have not guessed by now, is what all of this bull is being written to get everyone on the route to.

"I guess this is it," Alex said, looking at the small, rather innocuous looking object, "Doesn't look like much, does it?"

"Nope," Jim admitted, "But it has to be important."

"Why's that?" Alex asked, "Why does everything have some significance?"

"Because," Jim said, pointing at the object, "Look at what is written on it, Alex. If that isn't an indicator that this is an important artifact what is?"

Alexandra looked closely at the little thing that was rather indistinct except for some writing on it that she had to look very closely to make out. The object had written down the side of it the following:

This is it! You have found an Artifact that is supposed to help point you to the Black Fossil! Good Job! Created by Artifact Synthetics Suppliers, Inc.

"I see," Alex nodded, "All the good artifacts come out of ASS don't they?"

"Usually," Jim agreed, "I guess that means we should take it with us."

"Probably a good idea," Alexandra nodded as she picked it up and put it in her pocket, "So what do we do now?"

"Run from the nasty set of traps that you just set in motion," Jim suggested, "Duck!"

Alex did so and managed to avoid having her pretty head torn off by mere inches. They ran down the tunnel opposite from where they had come from just so they would not have to deal with the same hazards. For some reason people in these stories just do not like to recover the same ground that they had passed by before.

Alex dodged four pit traps and tripped over another one, just in the nick of time to avoid getting hit by a swinging blade. Jim dodged several falling rocks and a large stake to make it to the area where Alexandra was nearly decapitated. Jim used the plate in his head to stop one blade, which kept Alexandra from dying from the one attached to the same drop device.

"Are they trying to kill us?" Alexandra asked, "This is nuts!"

"That's a stupid question," Jim told her, continuing to run and dodge traps, "Of course they are trying to kill us. What do you think they are going to do? Greet us with open arms and say 'Here is my important artifact! Come and take me!' Get real, Alex!"

"That was supposed to be a rhetorical question," Alex scowled as they continued running, "Is that light up ahead?"

"Of course it is!" Jim said, "This scene has dragged on way too long and they are running out of ways to attempt to kill us. This means that either very soon they are going to have to succeed in killing one of us or let us get out so that they don't have to try anymore."

"You'd think they could just have us do a song and dance number," Alexandra said testily, "That would waste more words than this crap."

"That will come next," Jim said, "Right after we meet the bad guys."

"What makes you think we're going to meet the bad guys?" Alexandra asked him, "We haven't even found the surface yet."

"There it is," Jim said, pointing to the now obvious sign of daylight, "Unless I miss my guess they should be waiting right outside pointing guns at us and smirking stupidly at their success."

"Think so?" Alexandra said, "How much do you want to bet?"

"If I win you get up and sing a Britney Spears parody?" Jim said, "If you win I'll go and parody a 50 Cent song."

"Deal," Alexandra said, "Let's get out of here, shall we?"

Of course, because the author was running out of original ideas and had no intention of even looking up the lyrics to a 50 cent song to actually write a parody of, they walk out into the sunlight and find Reizvolle, James and Adam staring at them, grinning triumphantly

"Rats," Alexandra sighed, "I guess I get to be the goat."

"Just lip sync," Adam suggested, "It works for Britney."

"This is a book, stupid," Reizvolle said silkily, "There is no song."

"That's what you think," the Author said, chuckling like a madman...

## Chapter IV – Oops

True to her word, Alexandra Diminova is going to perform a very unnecessary parody of Britney Spears' Oops, I Did It Again. Apologies to everyone who has to read through this drivel, but we needed to up the word count somehow with something at least mildly original.

"Is this thing on?" Alexandra asked as she tapped the newly created microphone, "Where is the music I'm lip synching to?"

The music started and everyone started dancing inanely. Reizvolle gyrated like a strip club dancer and even the uncoordinated hero, Jim Stalin himself, managed to start dancing with them. James Mickenbacher mimed the drum line while various Mooks played the role of backing dancers.

"Bleh, bleh, bleh, bleh, bleh," Alexandra lip synched, "Bleh, bleh, bleh, bleh, bleh, bleh..."

"Funny," Adam said under his breath.

"I think I did it again..." Alexandra mimicked, "I made you believe, we had some sort of plot..."

"Some sort of plot..." the mooks sang.

"Oh baby," Alexandra continued, "It might not seem like much, so don't take me serious..."

She danced around clumsily and tried to get off the stage before Jim pointed out the mooks in the audience who were carrying guns and too much into the song for her to stop. She stopped, smiled and went back to the faux microphone.

"'Cause to lose all my audiences," she continued, "Is just so typically obscene, yeah baby..."

"Can we suck any worse right now?" Adam asked Reizvolle, "Maybe we should describe a tuna sandwich in detail?"

"We don't need to know about your sex life," Reizvolle said huskily, "Now hush and let the girl finish the song."

"Oops, I screwed it again," Alexandra faked, "I played with your life, got lost in the genre... How crappy, crappy..."

"You go girl!" one mook shouted, earning a quick gunshot to the forehead from Mickenbacher.

"Shut up," he growled, "Go on."

"Oops, you think I'm not dumb," Alexandra continued faking, "That I have an IQ second to none... I'm really quite an idiot!"

"Nice," Jim chuckled, "So much for this plot..."

Alexandra flipped Jim an obscene gesture as she got ready to continue with the song.

"You see that the problem is this," Alexandra croaked, "I'm wasting away, watching idiot heroes who unfortunately exist..."

"Hey!" Jim exclaimed, "I resemble that!"

"I cry watching this crap," Alexandra mouthed while rolling her eyes, "Can't you see that we're surrounded by mooks in so many ways!"

This line was thrown in here just to separate pieces of the song.

"But to lose all my lunches," she continued, "That's just so typically obscene..."

"Ok!" James yelled, "That's enough of this crap! It is offensive to take a bad song and make it even worse!"

"What are you going to do?" Alexandra asked him, "Shoot me?"

"Yes," James said, "I think that is exactly what I'm going to do."

James picked up his pistol and aimed it at Alexandra's rather shapely middle and fired two quick shots that were placed just perfectly so that round holes would form and bleed, but not spurt. Alexandra jumped and fell to the stage rather abruptly as Jim went over to her. She was alive and slipping away, but not fast enough to stop her from being able to talk for a good long time before her life ended.

"Looks like I'm a mook after all," Alexandra coughed, "Why me..."

"Because I need some reason to really hate those three," Jim told her, "I guess that you are dying for that purpose."

"That really sucks," Alexandra said as Jim wiped a little blood off her lip, "Where are you going to find another woman like me?"

"That's what I'm here for," Reizvolle's voice rolled out in a huskily sexy way, "I'm here to take the sexy lady marker from you."

"Maybe they'll give me a wisecracking little buddy," Jim said, "Or a trained monkey that is smarter than all of us."

"I won't be here to see it," Alexandra said, "Should I give the obligatory speech demanding that you extract vengeance for my useless murder?"

"It's the least you can do," Jim agreed, "Don't you think, guys?"

"Definitely," James said, "Killing her wouldn't be much fun otherwise."

"Of course," Reizvolle cooed, "It would be purrfect..."

"Very well," Alexandra managed to get out as her face got pale, "Since I'm dying I might as well make a spectacle of it..."

"Just do it quickly," Jim said, "This protracted death scene is starting to get a mite annoying."

"Right," Alexandra nodded, "Of course... Well, you see who pulled the trigger on me, correct?"

"That would be me," James said, waving the old pistol he used, "Right here!"

"Yes," Jim said, "Your point?"

"He's a bastard," Alexandra said, "Would you kindly make sure he doesn't manage to get off this island?"

"I can try," Jim agreed, "Since the author has forgotten his name at least once and just now realized that he used a variant of his hero's name to refer to the one who shot you it is nearly certain that James Mickenbacher is going to die somewhere in the next thousand words or so."

"Good," Alexandra nodded, "Although I think James missed the vital organ somehow. I'm starting to feel a bit better."

"That's not good," Jim said, "If you get better what little thread that he is so laughingly calling a plot right now will be in tatters. We must do something about this."

"More sex?" Adam asked hopefully.

"With yourself maybe," Reizvolle said sensuously, "Because you're not touching me..."

"Great," James said, "I'm glad I'm the mook... If there's no hope of me doing you, I don't want to be in this idiotic book anymore."

"I agree," Alexandra said, "James, I think I see the other side now..."

"God?" Jim asked her, "Heaven?"

"No," Alexandra said, "The wall... I finally opened my eyes a bit."

"Oh," Jim said, "Can you shoot her again, please, James?"

"Sure," James said, firing his gun, "How was that?"

"You missed," Alexandra grunted, "That was my pancreas. Could you hit something a bit more important please?"

"Sure," James nodded, firing again, "Better?"

"Not sure," Alexandra said, "Am I dead yet?"

"Not yet," Jim said, "But you probably will be once you say something nicely cryptic and profound."

"Oh god," Alexandra groaned, "I'm never going to die the way this book is going..."

"Sure you are," Jim said, "Just think of something now so the author can end this torture on all of us."

"Find it..." Alexandra said, remembering that her job was to further the plot, "The Black Fossil must not fall into their hands... It needs to be used for the benefit of humanity..."

"I'll find it, Alex," Jim said, getting into his role now that Alexandra had had her obligatory bit of melodrama, "I swear to you that your death will not be in vain."

"Thank you," Alexandra said, finally dying with a smile on her face, "Now kill him..."

"What now?" Reizvolle asked libidinously, "Is it over?"

"Yes," Adam said, "Now shut up so we can end this chapter."

## Chapter V – Escaping the Tedium of the Chase

Jim Stalin looked at the body of his short term partner and knew that he had little choice but to continue with this ridiculous plot device. His mind filled with the rage that should only come from the loss of a good friend, but in this case was devoted to Alexandra who he had known through less than eight thousand words of story.

"Grab him," James Mickenbacher said, "Let's get this one taken care of before he can cause any problems."

"You really don't think it is going to be that easy, do you?" Reizvolle asked him in an arousing manner, "He is the hero of the story, after all."

"Watch him survive this," James said, firing two shots at Jim Stalin, "Die!"

"Please," Jim said, "You didn't even hit me."

James looked at his gun and made sure it fired. It did and he was sure his aim was good. He growled and went over to Jim Stalin and put the barrel of the gun up to Stalin's forehead. He was not really thinking straight at this point. If he was he would have looked at the dust jacket and seen that Jim's name was mentioned there multiple times and his was not mentioned at all.

"Pull the trigger," Jim dared him, staring him in the eyes, "You don't have the balls!"

"You won't have any either!" James yelled, getting irrationally angry at the futility of his position, "What did you do to get this immortal status?"

"Easy," Jim said, "I'm the hero of the story. I thought you knew that."

This answer pissed James off even farther. He raised the weapon again and pulled the trigger, about two millimeters from Jim's head. Jim closed his eyes to protect from what he knew was about to happen. James Mickenbacher's gun exploded when he pulled the trigger, sending pieces backwards into the minor villain's hand and body. Jim, of course, was not touched by anything more than a superficial wound from the exploding gunpowder.

"Nice," Reizvolle said alluringly, "Thank you for a completely pointless display, James."

"Adam!" James exclaimed, "Why don't you try it?"

"And end up dead as fast as you're going to?" Adam Dirtpassion asked him, "I don't think so."

Even the mooks backed up away from James, knowing that as the direct murderer of Alexandra he was not going to live much longer. The mooks are here to be cannon fodder, something they all knew, but they had no earthly desire to die as badly as James was heading for.

"Get the artifact!" Adam yelled at the mooks, "Get it while James is fighting for his life!"

The mooks went and tore the clothes off Alexandra's corpse looking for the artifact. Jim tried to go over there, but he did not have the ability to push through about two dozen mooks, especially with a very pissed off villain type person trying to start the final fight with him. Jim turned around and punched James Mickenbacher in the nose while the mooks fought with Alexandra's corpse.

"You know," Jim told James, "You are a pain in the ass."

"So what do you intend to do about it?" James asked, "Kill me?"

"Sounds like a decent plan to me," Jim agreed, "Let's go for it!"

Jim Stalin launched himself at the really annoying villain who was trying very hard to make himself smaller. James launched a few good shots at Jim mainly because no one ever lands a bad shot. The bad ones tend to end up on the editing room floor while the good ones land on the hero or the villain and look really good.

While Jim and James were fighting Adam and Reizvolle got their mooks together and took the artifact from Alexandra's torn up body and put it into a rather non-descript case that could have come from any of a hundred bad adventure stories in the past. In fact, I think this one was surplus from the script of the first Indiana Jones movie. They started in convoy form and before long the only people in the area were James Mickenbacher, three mooks and our hero.

"Looks like they're leaving you behind," Jim said, "Expecting you to kill me all by your lonesome?"

"Of course," James told him, "If they all ganged up on you at once you wouldn't have a chance to escape. We have to make mistakes like this early so that it doesn't look anywhere near as stupid when you get really incredibly lucky later on."

"That makes sense," Jim said, "We're also running quite a bit behind on the nanowrimo word count, so we're probably going to have a nice long even fight."

"I wouldn't guess so much even," James agreed, "But long and drawn out is a virtual certainty now."

"By all means then," Jim said, "Would you like to start this or should I?"

"We will!" one of the mooks exclaimed, "Time to die, hero!"

Jim let off a perfect side kick into that mook's nose that shoved the cartilage right up into the unidentified man's brain. He died, of course, as a result of a maneuver that has been rumored to be possible for years, but of course has not been able to be proved in existence. The fact that Jim also is spitting out moves that would be better suited to a high level black belt in multiple forms of karate.

James got into a position not unlike a Karate master that would never even consider getting into a fight as long and pointless as this one was turning out to be. The fact that he was wearing a slightly blood stained suit, a gift from the mook that parented him and sent him out named into the world to be beaten on in this fight, just made the whole scene more comical.

"So what do you have to say for yourself?" Jim asked him, "Ready for your big moment in the sun?"

"Of course," James agreed, "This is what I was born for!"

James let off the first kick, a short jab of one that went for Jim's knees. Jim managed to dodge it and send James flying over against the wall that somehow popped up out of nowhere from behind Stalin. James shook his head and tried to clear his vision.

"Forget your glasses?" Jim asked him, "Need lasik the hard way?"

"The hard way?" James asked him, "What would that be?"

"With me using my fist to reshape your eyeballs?" Jim asked as he punched James in the face twice, "I'm sure I can do about as good a job as a surgeon.

"That's quite all right. I won't be living long," James said, "Lasik would be a waste of time that I will no longer need in just about five hundred words or so unless I miss my guess."

"About that," Jim agreed, "Ok, let's keep fighting for a while so we can make this scene suck a little less like a Hoover and a bit more like a porn star."

"Works as a plan for me," James "Shall we continue?"

"Of course," Jim said, "Let's beat on each other for a while."

The remaining mooks watched as Jim and James beat on each other needlessly for a while. The whole thing did not really advance the plot very much, in fact it makes the plot weaker by removing the one person most directly responsible for Alexandra's death about thirteen hundred words earlier. This did not stop them in any way, however as they intended to beat on each other until everyone got bored, including the guy who is writing this dreck.

Finally sensing that it was time for James to get at least a false sense of victory before he met the great mook god in the sky, he kicked Jim in the stomach and sent him rolling over backwards. The mooks looked surprised by this and looked over at their boss to try to figure out what they were supposed to do. They knew they were there to supposedly protect their boss and to be cannon fodder, but they didn't know what to do with a downed hero.

"Pick his sorry ass up!" James explained, "I'm going to at least get one good hit on the son of a bitch before he kills me off."

James got a few obligatory hits on Jim's torso, though none of them were going to do more than annoy the hero and at most break a rib or something. Jim went through the pain as he was supposed to do, knowing with grim satisfaction that he would be kicking some serious ass before long. The mooks held him back against the wall and James made sure that he at least broke a rib before Jim could start taking over this battle.

"Ok," Jim said, "We've wasted enough words on this idiotic fight. Time to end it."

Jim used his hero's strength reserve to muster up the energy to pull his arms out and smack the mooks' heads together in a move that would have been well placed in a Three Stooges short. The mooks died, of course, being as that is what mooks are there for. This left James Mickenbacher alone with a pumped up and pissed off hero.

"Ummm," James said, "I don't think there's any chance that I can go get a coffee on the other side of the island or something, is there?"

Jim Stalin grinned his bright hero type grin and shook his head negatively. He took in a deep breath and performed a showy and completely unnecessary karate maneuver and got into a stance that looked better than it was actually useful. He cracked his neck in a way that made James Mickenbacher cringe.

"It is time to pay," Jim said, "Any last words?"

"Ummm," James said, "Sorry?"

"That's it?" Jim asked.

"How about this?" James said, thinking hard, "Thank you?"

"Thank me?" Jim said, "What do you think this is? Some idiotic commercial where I'm going to forgive your transgression just because you thanked me?"

"I have something to lose at this point?" Mickenbacher asked reasonably, "Think about this..."

"True," Jim said, "But it's time for you to meet your doom."

Jim went over and picked up the same gun that James had shot Alexandra with some eighteen hundred words ago and aimed it at the bad guy who has a long name that I do not wish to type right now. The bad guy cringed, knowing that he was about to die like the named mook he has always been.

"Eat lead, numb nuts," Jim said and pulled the trigger.

James Mickenbacher waited for the lead to hit him, but the first shot went wide. The second and third shots were just as bad. It took the rest of the clip for Jim Stalin to realize that this had been a weapon designed to be given to the bad guys, a weapon that was pretty well incapable of hitting any target that was it was intended to hit unless said bullet was in the best interest of keeping the story short.

"I guess he needed more words," James shrugged, "Now you've got an empty gun. You lose."

"No," Jim said, "You do..."

Jim Stalin knew his comic books better than anyone. He figured that he had nothing to lose by throwing it at the bad guy. Since the bad guy needed to die in order for this long and tedious chapter to end he wound up and threw it solidly at James Mickenbacher's head.

"You can't be serious," James said as the gun flew, "I should dodge."

"You should," Jim agreed, "But you are as bored of this as I am."

"True," Mickenbacher agreed, "Come now, gun, hit true..."

The gun hit true on the bridge of James Mickenbacher's nose and by some ironic set of coincidences managed to break it and make him chomp on the backup capsule of cyanide he had kept in an upper tooth for many years. He went into convulsions from the poison and collapsed right next to the bloody remains of Alexandra, dying only about two thousand words after she did.

"Serves you right," Jim said, "Now to get that artifact back from the others..."

## Chapter VI – An Improbable Artifact Rescue

Jim Stalin made his way towards the other end of the island. He knew there had to be some facilities of some sort for the group of bad people to be able to get the artifact off the island. He went ahead and made his way over to the other side of the island. He was delayed though by a very familiar smell. He smiled as he walked over and found a Starbuck's Coffee stand sitting there.

"Welcome to uninhabited island Starbucks!" the clerk said, "What would you like today?"

"I would like a Super Vente Grande Komodo Dragon island blend," Jim told him, "I'd like cream, sugar, cocoanut juice as well as any unidentified non-poisonous good tasting stuff that you can find."

"Would you like that in a large or small cocoanut?" the clerk asked, "The delivery people were a bit slow with the cups this month."

"Let's go for the large one," Jim agreed, "Do you get much business out here?"

"Not usually," the clerk said as he frothed up the coffee, "But I'm doing better than the Starbucks that opened up in my bathroom did."

The outhouse opened and another man waved as he showed his sign for another Starbucks location, conveniently located right next to the very toilet that most of the other Starbucks customers used to expel their earlier purchases.

"Figures," Jim said, watching, "Did you see a really sexy blonde woman, a tall guy with a really odd name and about a dozen mooks pass through here today?"

"Yes sir," the clerk said, putting in a lot of chemicals, "They bought a few coffees and shorted me on the tip. They are bad people, sir."

"That they are," Jim agreed, "Which way did they go?"

"Just follow the signs that they put up," the clerk said, handing over the cocoanut to Jim Stalin, "That will be three hundred and eighty seven dollars and ninety two cents."

"Inflation gets everything," Jim mumbled and tossed four hundred dollar bills on the counter, "Keep the change."

"Thank you sir!" the clerk said, "Since you're nicer than they are I'll tell you a secret that they don't even know yet."

"Ok," Jim said, "I can use that."

"We know," the clerk said, "That's why a Starbucks was formed here, just to give you this information."

"Very well," Jim said, "What is the information?"

"The bad guys brought two boats," the clerk said, "And there is a motorcycle hidden behind my shop here.

"Excellent!" Jim exclaimed, "I bet they are walking to the boats too, which means I can rush in and take the artifact and try to get away."

"They are relying on mook power to get it to the boats," the clerk said and counted the money, "Hmm, you paid me enough to cover theirs too. I'll give you another clue."

"What's that?" Jim said, "I can never get enough help in the plot section."

"Take the boat on the right," the clerk said, "It is faster and will allow you to get out of this area so we can move on to something more interesting than a deserted island covered with Mooks and bad people. Maybe you can do something other than run around an idiotic island for the next few chapters."

"It would be nice," Jim agreed, "Ok. I'm taking the motorcycle now."

"That's what it is there for," the clerk agreed, "Enjoy your coffee!"

"And don't forget to visit my shop!" the Starbucks guy in the bathroom said, "I'm open later!"

"Right," Jim said, "Thanks."

Jim walked out back of the Starbucks area to find an old dilapidated motorcycle sitting out back just waiting for him to get on to it. He did so, brushing off a generous helping of dust, and looked for the method to start it. Alas, since the author knows very little about these idiotic devices other than what he hears people talking about at work it seems that Jim Stalin is going to just have to wing it.

"Fine," Jim said, grumbling, "Do I have to make the putt putts on my own as well?"

"I think some generic engine noise will do," the author told him, "Now get your ass on that bike and go get the artifact."

Jim Stalin remembered what he was doing and managed to get the bike started. He shifted it into gear and started driving along. It took maybe three minutes for Jim to realize that he had no idea where he was going. This was a good thing, all told because the bad guys didn't know where they were going either.

Seeing as neither one had a clue, but Jim knew about the boats that the author had so carelessly forgotten to tell Adam or Reizvolle about the existence of. Since all parties were equally clueless, it didn't take too long for Jim to find them. Since none of the bad guys were really expecting it Jim decided to make a quick run for the artifact carrier.

Jim headed straight for the group of mooks that were breaking their backs trying to carry the large carrier that was at least twenty times larger than the actual artifact that they were trying to retrieve. No one exactly knew why this was done this way, but it had been so for a lot longer than was necessary.

"Where did he get that?" Adam asked, "And why the hell didn't we bring our own vehicles out here?"

"Because we popped into existence out of nowhere," Reizvolle cooed sulkily, "And we don't want to make it too hard. We have to have a reason to keep going after that idiot on the motorcycle after all. If we don't have any reason to chase him this book gets rather dull."

"That's true," Adam said, "So I guess we should put up a show at stopping him then?"

"That would be prudent," Reizvolle agreed, her eyes oozing sex appeal, "We paid good money for these mooks, they should serve some sort of purpose before we leave them to starve on this island."

"You heard her!" Adam yelled, "Stop him! Anyone who survives will be left behind!"

The mooks dropped the large case and rushed towards Jim's speeding motorcycle. In doing so they managed to form a perfect ten pin formation, which Jim took as a challenge to his motorcycle riding skills. He revved the engine and put his hard head down in front of him as he drove quickly into the line.

Seeing as the motorcycle makes one hell of an effective bowling ball he hit the group just to the left of the leading mook. The blood was a horrible sight, but then it was all they were meant for so it wasn't too much. A few mook parts flew across the area but again it was all in good taste.

"Who's good taste?" Adam wondered, "I don't think any of this book has been in good taste so far."

"You haven't seen anything yet," Reizvolle said libidinously, "I think there are new levels of bad taste that we have yet to visit. Bloody and broken mooks are just the beginning..."

Seeing as most of the mooks were now disposed of Jim did a few victory laps around the remains of the mooks and made an obscene gesture at Adam and Reizvolle. He then picked up a mook and tossed it at Adam's head, managing to wrap the evil man's head with it. Reizvolle shook her head at the idiocy and watched as Jim ran at full speed towards the box.

"Stop him!" Adam yelled, "Reizvolle! He's going to get the artifact!"

"What do you want me to do?" Reizvolle asked sultrily, "Stop him with my excessively large breasts or your extreme lack of wit? You know full well he's going to get it. Might as well get a good laugh as he hits the box."

"True," Adam said, "Should we tell him that he's not going to stop in time?"

"Of course not," Reizvolle said provocatively, "Let's enjoy the moment, shall we?"

Jim waved at Adam and Reizvolle while he approached the artifact carrier. Of course, his lack of skill at the controls of a motorcycle allowed him to hit it head on going a good fifty miles an hour. He flew off the motorcycle and landed in a soft batch of mattresses just to find Reizvolle and Adam staring down at him.

"You want the other guy," Jim's stunt double said from the mattresses, "The one that is currently taking the artifact from your carrier and running away."

"You really don't think I'm that stupid, do you?" Jim asked them as he ran.

"Figures," Adam said, "Damned stunt doubles."

"If you're as sick of this chapter as I am," Reizvolle cooed in a bored tone, "Then let him go."

Jim ran to the boats as he had been told by the plot device called a Starbucks salesman a while earlier. He jumped into the boat and started sailing back towards civilization, the direction of which Jim Stalin magically knows without having ever been in this part of the world before or ever sailing an unfamiliar boat before.

"We'll get you later!" Adam yelled, "Count on it!"

"Of course you will," Jim said as he made it far away, "It wouldn't be much of a book if you didn't!"

VII – Analyzing the Artifact

Jim Stalin walked into Admiral Sackenbrenner's office clad in the same torn up clothes he had been wearing after the plane crash and boat ride. Somehow the mystical boat ride took him all the way to the door outside the non-descript government agency's very landlocked building. Just to add insult to injury Jim had parked the boat in the Admiral's personal parking space, much to the detriment of the twenty-year-old Yugo the Admiral had already parked there.

"So you lost another partner," the Admiral said with a smoke filled breath, "That's the third one that has gotten killed on you this year."

"I know," Jim said, "I'm torn up about it too. I really need to do something about this one."

"I could say that it wasn't part of your job," the Admiral said, "But you and I both know that you have no other job than this. You're another bit of public waste that at least the public can enjoy listening to."

"At least you're showing good sense to know that," Jim agreed, "Now we need to find out who the opposition is and why they want this thing."

"Do you think they know that yet?" Sackenbrenner mused, "Or is that going to be made up later on?"

"It will be made up later on," Jim was sure, "But that doesn't stop us from analyzing this artifact that I picked up. Maybe it will give some impetus for this story to move along."

"Right," Admiral Sackenbrenner said as he lit another cheap cigar, "Go ahead and take the thing up to the labs to have it looked at. Maybe Ray Lager will be able to figure out what it is and maybe even get you a direction to go into."

"Just so long as I don't get on to another plane flown by a mook," Jim said, "That gag was fun the first time, but I don't want to do it again."

"We'll let you fly a real one this time," Admiral Sackenbrenner told him, "I can't afford for you to lose another partner. We don't have that many people on payroll and it is getting harder and harder to find people willing to partner up with you."

"Then let me take Jack," Jim suggested, "He's actually survived a few missions with me. Not to mention he's been a friend since we were in grade school together."

"He's probably more likely to survive," Admiral Sackenbrenner agreed, "And you already have Alexandra to mourn and to avenge. Yes, go ahead and take Jack Wack with you. If nothing else his name will get appreciative chuckles and plenty of opportunities for silly buddy-buddy banter."

"Where is he?" Jim asked, "I haven't seen him since I parked the boat?"

"Probably doing your wife," Admiral Sackenbrenner shrugged, "Since you spend so little time at home."

"I don't think Angeline would do that to me," Jim shrugged, "And I know Jack wouldn't. He has more self respect than to aim that low."

"I thought her name was Annabel?" Admiral Sackenbrenner asked, "No matter, you never go home and see her anyway."

"True that," Jim nodded, "I guess I should go up and see Lager. Though I'd much rather drink one right now."

"Funny," Sackenbrenner coughed, belching out more stale cigar smoke, "Get this piece of junk off my desk."

"And back into your parking space," Jim grinned, "Just like usual."

"I love my Yugo," Sackenbrenner said, "It fits me."

"Cheap, old and broken down?" Jim asked, "Not to mention belching more smoke than a factory following Bush air protection rules?"

"Get out!" Sackenbrenner yelled, "You have an artifact to have examined!"

Jim grinned gleefully and made his way up to the 39th floor of the non-descript building. Of course, the building looked like it only had 36 floors to hide the fact that there were a bunch of illegitimate and immoral government offices there. This is only slightly less than the number of floors hidden in the white house to give the government an appearance of respectability.

Ray Lager was sitting in his workroom on the 39th floor when Jim made it up there to talk to him. Ray himself was a small, bookish person who was wearing glasses thick enough to substitute for the windows on a ship. His unkempt hair and lab coat made it apparent that he was the resident science geek for an organization filled with people who mostly couldn't have passed high school chemistry.

Ray also had many degrees, enough that an entire wall in his office was papered with them. Jim always flinched when he saw these. He knew that Ray Lager was smart enough to make up for a dozen Jim Stalins but that with his body and those thick glasses he was not likely to get any other satisfaction. This is good because it made sure that Ray Lager would not be any competition for him.

"What's going on, Ray?" Jim asked him, sitting down on the edge of his desk, "What Degree are you working on this week?"

"I'm going for a second doctorate in Macro-Biological Physics," Ray said, not even looking up from his book. Why are you here and what do you intend to destroy this time?"

"Nothing!" Jim exclaimed, "I do all my destruction outside of the office. Don't you believe that I come up here just because I like you?"

"No more than I would believe that Steve Stifler would become a sensitivity trainer," Ray said, "What is in the box?"

"Well," Jim said, "If you have a few minutes I would like to know more about this artifact that I brought back."

"I didn't get that degree in Artificial Artifact Archaeology for nothing," Ray said, "Put it on my desk, I'll get to it in standard government time."

"Dude," Jim said, putting it down, "I'll be retired before you get to it in standard government time. You are appearing as a character in a fast paced action novel and there is no time for that. You have no other job in this piece other than helping me figure out what that blasted thing is and to read your books. So the sooner you figure this out then you can get back to whatever degree you're working on for next week."

"Very well," Ray sighed, "At least Jack Wack hasn't shown up yet. You're insufferable enough on your own. He's worse."

"Hey, hey Ray!" Jack Wack said, "I thought I heard that Jim was back in town on his way back up here. What no good does that windbag Sackenbrenner have you working on this time?"

"He doesn't know," Jim shrugged, "None of us do. The only clue I have is that hunk of junk sitting on Ray's desk. He's going bureaucrat on me though. Doesn't want to figure out what it is."

"Now, now," Jack said, "That's no way to treat the man here. He's a big supporter of the arts."

"How do you get that?" Ray asked, "He hasn't been to a gallery in his life."

"Man," Jack said, "I'm a gay, Jewish Black dude. My brother's name is Art and Jim has been helping me support him for years. I'm also the comic relief so I'm not going to make a hell of a lot of sense. Just analyze the idiotic thing, all right?"

"I'll do it just to get you out of my office," Ray sighed, "Come back after you go out, have some bad coffee, and have your get re-acquainted banter. That should give me enough time to make up something ridiculous that you'll believe."

"Sounds good to me, Jimbo," Jack said, "How about you?"

"Sure," Jim agreed, "Though will you tell me how I came to be best friends with a gay, Jewish black dude?"

"I was hoping you'd tell me how I came to be best friends with a white hetero cracker?" Jack shrugged as they discreetly walked out of the office, "I guess they thought it would be funny and give people a sense of security."

"Sense of security?" Jim asked, "How do you get that?"

"Man, you are as dumb as you look sometimes," Jack said, "Do you know what kind of flack the author would receive for killing off a gay, Jewish black dude? I'm a golden boy and moreover the first character introduced in this novel that we all know damn sure is not going to be killed off for a laugh."

"Not to mention," Jim grinned, "With a name as stupid as Jack Wack you are going to be fun for the ages. How did you get through high school with that name?"

"Easy," Jack said, "I did my whacking at home and grew up during the rise of political correctness. Man, being a gay, Jewish black dude made it so that no one could touch me. We did go to Bill Clinton High School, after all."

"Would explain my moral laxity?" Jim agreed, "Though you do have sense enough not to tell my wife Sandy eh?"

"I thought her name was Sasha," Jack shrugged, "Not like I've ever met her anyway."

"Whatever," Jim shrugged, "Not important right now."

"So what are we looking for?" Jack asked, "And why is that artifact the key to finding it?"

"We're looking for something called The Black Fossil," Jim explained, "The only reason I'm looking for it is because I'm trying to find the jackasses that killed Alexandra. Even though I killed the one who pulled the trigger I have an irrational need to find the other two who ordered it."

"That little irrational need is called a plot, buddy," Jack reminded him, "That's wearing a bit on the thin side as this progresses. That's why I'm here. To give a bit of comic relief and a slight plausibility break from the main story. I also am rather long winded, so this allows a lot of words to be burned that way."

"Good point," Jim said, "Speaking of which, shouldn't we get back to it?"

"Maybe after we get a gratuitous description of me," Jack said, "That should be long enough to unravel some of the secrets of the unknown. Especially since we're all making it up as we go along anyway."

"True that," Jim said, "I guess we're waiting for the description now..."

Ok, if that is what we need... Jack Wack is a gay, Jewish Black dude who is probably about five feet six inches tall. He's thin, has a shaved head because he wanted to hide the fact that he was losing his hair. Unless it is funnier to give him a large afro. We'll figure that out when Chris does the cover. He favored any stereotypical gay or Jewish clothing and did this mainly to make it easy to identify or describe him. He also has secret fantasies about a certain elderly male member of the 60 minutes cast...

"Enough!" Jim exclaimed, "That is way more than I wanted to know about my old friend Jack!"

"Me too," Jack said, "I don't think Jim really needs to know how I really feel about Andy Rooney."

"On that note perhaps we'd better go talk to Ray again," Jim suggested as he cocked an eyebrow at Jack, "Andy Rooney?"

"Hey..." Jack said, "I can't help it if I like cranky old white guys..."

They walked into the office where Ray was hovering over the very different looking artifact. It actually looked like something very old and ancient, unlike the stark object that Jim had brought back from the uninhabited island. It was made of stone and covered with runes that Jim had never seen the like of before.

"That doesn't look like what I brought back," Jim said, "You run off on a wild tangent again, Ray?"

"Or drinking too much of your namesake?" Jack added.

"No," Ray said, frowning, "I simply opened the box and pulled out the artifact that was inside. No one took off the original Artifact Synthetics Service packaging to actually see what the object was."

"Great," Jim said, "So what is it?"

"Some form of Neolithic artifact," Ray told them, "Really old. I've not had time to get this degree yet, so I am not much help in translating it for you."

"Neolithic?" Jack asked, "I don't know much about it but that is damned old isn't it?"

"Very old," Ray agreed, "I don't know what could be that old that could inspire this much death and destruction."

"Well," Jim said, "They are looking for it and that's enough reason for us to start looking for it. Any ideas on what to do with it, Ray?"

"Of course not," Ray said, "That would be too implausible. Besides, you and Jack need to head out. We need a car chase to spice things up. We have spent enough time lollygagging around in here that whatever bad guys you screwed over are probably going to be on the road between here and where you go to get it looked at."

"There's just one problem," Jack said, "Where are we going to get it looked at?"

"The foremost professor on Neolithic artifacts," Ray said, "Admiral Sackenbrenner has already set up an invitation for you to meet him at a dress dinner tonight. You and Jack are expected to go there, with the artifact, and show it to him."

"I guess now I should admit that I have no clue how to dress for a dress up dinner?" Jim said, "Since I wouldn't know a tux from a wetsuit."

"That's why I'm here," Jack grinned, clapping Jim on the back, "Why else would you be best friends with a gay Jewish black dude?"

"I knew there had to be some reason," Jim laughed, "Other than the fact that I wanted someone who wouldn't be killed in only four chapters."

"True," Jack said, "Let's go and take my government car. I'm sure that boat you came in is in no condition to take any further."

"Especially not once the Admiral sees what it did to his Yugo," Jim grinned, "Still driving the Gremlin?"

"Of course," Jack said, "We've destroyed too many cars to be issued anything built after 1980."

## Chapter VIII – The Obligatory Car Chase

Jim and Jack pulled out of the parking lot in an AMC Gremlin that had been issued to them after the destruction of their last government issued Ford. It was a manual transmission and Jim had spent a few days under the hood to make it run at least reasonably well. But it was still a Gremlin, right down to the 8-Track player with the old Village People cartridge loaded.

"Do we have to listen to this crap every time you drive?" Jim asked, "Disco is dead, Jack. Has been for years."

"Of course you do," Jack grinned, revving the engine up as they got on the highway, "You let the gay Jewish black dude drive. What else am I gonna listen to? Eminem?"

"Could you at least put in some Elton John once in a while?" Jim lamented, "I mean, have some variety man."

"Find me some Elton on 8-Track and I'll consider it," Jack shrugged, "So where is this Dress Dinner with the artifact man?"

"Damned if I know," Jim said, "Ray sent us on our way without telling us. I figure we will find out sometime after the car chase ends. Right?"

"True," Jack agreed, "You know, I'm gonna miss this old Gremlin."

They drove a few miles aimlessly, waiting for the bad guys to catch up with them. It shouldn't have been hard to do, but Adam Dirtpassion was running behind in the DC area traffic. Reizvolle knew that there would be no call for her ultra-sexy body to be involved in such a chase, so she left it all to Adam and a group of newly recruited mooks.

"There's the Gremlin our mole told us about!" Adam grumbled, "Let's get our artifact back from those pains in the ass."

Catching up to the Gremlin was not a problem, considering both sets of bad guys were driving late model Chevy sedans. Adam was not taking any chances with this either. He stopped the mooks from carrying explosive weapons, but they were carrying sub-machine guns and enough ammunition to take over a small African nation. All this to take care of two men in an underpowered Gremlin.

"You get the feeling we're screwed?" one of the mooks asked Adam, "Despite the advantage of numbers and bullets?"

"Of course we are," Adam said, nodding his head, "They are the heroes and all I have are you mooks."

Despite that sorry fact, Adam ordered the attack. The cars pulled up on both sides of the gremlin and the mooks glared evilly at the occupants. Jim and Jack looked at both sides and saw the grinning mooks. They looked at each other and shook their heads.

"Come on!" Jack yelled, "Give us your best shot!"

"Do you have to encourage them?" Jim asked wearily, "Why did you do that?"

"Watch and duck," Jack grinned and turned to the mooks, "Your momma had a name and even less brains than you!"

This angered the mooks on both sides so much that they both started shooting at Jack. Of course, Jack and Jim both had the sense to drop down in their seats, so the bullets flying from both sets of guns flew straight through the Gremlin's body and killed the mooks firing on either side. Since the mook on the right side was also driving the car that car was out of the chase until someone could push the body out.

"Good move," Jim agreed, "Two mooks down. Six to go."

"What about their master?" Jack wondered, "Don't we get to smack him too?"

"Too early in the book," Jim told him, "We've only got two of the three villains left and we still have 34,832 words left to go. Better to let him get away for now."

"Well what do you think about the maneuver at least?" Jack asked him, "Anything?"

"Good job," Jim told Jack, "Now we just have a pile of mooks and one angry bad guy to go!"

"We've also got a good ways to travel on this," Jack said, "I'm just getting started!"

"So are they," Jim said, "I think they're about to shoot at us again. Might want to duck."

Jack followed his advice and got down low enough so that he wouldn't be an easy target. Several of the remaining mooks started firing dozens of shots at the Gremlin as they traveled down the highway. They got bored looks from most of the other people on the highway, as they had seen better chases on Fox Television the night before. The gunplay was semi-exciting, however, so the children watched as the two Chevys tried to take apart the Gremlin piece by piece.

After being hit with nearly a thousand rounds, none of which managed to hit the occupants of the ancient car, the Gremlin kept going. Jim thought it odd that the mooks had aim bad enough that they did not manage to even hit a tire, let alone the sputtering engine in the dilapidated Gremlin.

"We're still alive," Jim grinned, "And the Gremlin is running."

"Amazing, isn't it?" Jack said, "So what do we do now? We're in a damaged car some thirty years old, one that should be either dying or running out of gas at any point. We're being chased by two cars full of people who want to kill us."

"Yeah," Jim said, a proud smile forming, "Sucks to be them, doesn't it?"

"I'm sure," Jack laughed, "So what do we do next?"

"I'm thinking some Matrix style moves," Jim said, "Since this is only a Gremlin we aren't going that fast. Maybe I can jump over to the Mook car and have some fun."

"Sounds idiotic," Jack said, "But they aren't going to kill you, so you might as well do something idiotic. I'll use the Gremlin to try to keep the other car off your ass."

"Ok," Jim said, unclipping his seatbelt, "Ramming speed!"

Jim didn't even have to get out of the seat to make his jump. The glass had long since been shot out, so when the mook's car got in front of them to try to slow the Gremlin down (as if it could go much slower) Jack just hit the gas and rammed it. Jim flew out of the window and did a perfect forward roll onto the Chevy car still being driven by a mook. It was a marvelous piece of implausibility that was so artistic in its execution that nobody seemed to notice that it was completely impossible.

Jim stood up and grabbed on to the top of the Chevy. The mooks inside, instead of using their weapons to perforate the idiotic hero, decided that one of them should climb out the window and fight him hand to hand because a fight on top of a moving car is always much cooler than dispatching the hero intelligently.

Jack used the ailing Gremlin as a block to keep Adam's Chevy from getting to the one where Jim was waiting for the mook to come out and meet him. Jack was watching with a bit of humor, as he knew this was probably the single stupidest thing Jim Stalin had ever done in his presence. In his private life, however, Jack was sure Jim had done far stupider things when he wasn't around.

The mook climbed out onto the roof and tried to shoot Jim, but of course the wind made the shot go wild and the gun went clattering onto the hood of the Gremlin. Jim grinned and got into fighting stance, despite the fact that they were going seventy miles an hour down the highway.

"I'm gonna get you!" the mook exclaimed, "You're going down!"

"I'm getting bored," Jim said, "You going to attack, or what?"

The mook went at Jim and missed. Several additional punches went wild, not even coming close to Jim's body or face. Jim had a little fun with it, dancing around the moving fight arena and letting off a few jabs. The mook was annoyed by this and jumped full force at Jim, knocking the surprised hero backwards onto the hood of the Chevy.

"Like that, don't you?" The mook growled as he jumped onto Jim, "There's more where that came from!"

The mook managed a few good shots (again, are there ever any bad ones in a book like this?) on Jim Stalin, until our hero managed to get his knee free and slammed it into the mook's nether regions. Jack had to admire the look on the mook's face, especially the picture perfect O his lips formed. Jim punched the mook in the stomach and pushed him backwards, letting the wind catch him and toss him into the windshield, shattering into the face of the mook that was driving.

"Suck that," Jim told the mook, "Now to give you something to really remember..."

Jim kicked the downed mook a few times and looked up triumphantly to give thumbs up to Jack. Jack, however, was not impressed and pointed forward. Jim looked at his friend for a moment and turned to face the front. He saw that the mook behind the wheel, who had been effectively blinded when the other mook went through the windshield, was driving straight for an oncoming truck.

Jim's eyes went wide and he looked around for his options. The best of them, and this wasn't by much, was to make a leap of faith over to the dying Gremlin, which was the only other vehicle involved in the chase that was managing to keep up. Seconds before the crash Jim made a jump towards the Gremlin, doing a very artistic flip in the air as the truck missed his head by inches.

Jack sighed and was glad this was taking enough words to be in slow motion. He pushed the Gremlin as hard as he could and managed to just get the hood under where Jim was going to land. The landing, which was hard by any standards, was enough to dislodge what was left of the hood. This, combined with the wind pushing him back, sent Jim flying backwards onto the roof. Of course, after sustaining hundreds of bullet hits, this dislodged as well, flying off into space and allowing Jim to fall flat on the passenger seat next to Jack.

"Not bad," Jack Wack said, "I give you an eight for style, but a ten for stupidity."

"It worked," Jim grinned, "Didn't it?"

"We still have another car of mooks," Jack reminded him, "And this damned Gremlin isn't going to last much longer."

"It will be fine," Jim said, picking up the gun that the mook had lost, "I'm armed now. That's the gun the mook lost when he fought me outside the car."

"Well stop pussyfooting around and shoot them!" Jack exclaimed, "Before they hit us again!"

"Ram them!" Adam shouted, "Pound that damned Gremlin into submission!"

Jim checked the weapon for jams and got it ready to fire. He knew he had no additional clips, so he would have to make the ones he had count. Adam was still driving the car, so the mooks got ready to start firing again. Jim knew he couldn't hit Adam with the weapon he was carrying so he did the one smart thing he could think of. He aimed straight for him.

Adam Dirtpassion exclaimed something unprintable as the bullets came flying at the windshield. Jim was right, however, as none of them hit the bad guy that they were aimed for. They riddled the Chevy sedan all around him, finishing off the few mooks who were still remaining in Adam's car. Jim fired off the last of the rounds at the engine and watched the newer vehicle begin belching steam and dying.

"Gotta love old tech," Jack said, watching as the Chevy started to die, "These Gremlins suck, but they are a bitch to kill!"

Adam crashed the Chevy into a rather insanely ordinary looking Volvo. Once the vehicles came to a stop all four tires simultaneously flattened and both axles broke, just to make sure that they were no longer going to be abused in this idiotic chase. Adam cursed a little but breathed a sigh of relief. The car chase was over and he had survived. He would live to attack Jim Stalin again another day.

Jack and Jim cheered a bit as they drove the injured Gremlin far away from the site of the fight. Jim grinned as he sat back in the demolished seat and pulled the clip out of the weapon. He chuckled as he held it up for Jack to view what was left inside it.

"One bullet," Jack said, "Man, you are the luckiest..."

"I'm the hero, remember?" Jim asked, "Of course I'm lucky. I'd have died long ago if I wasn't."

"True that one," Jack said as he turned the 8-track player on to reveal more village people music, "So what are you going to do with the last bullet, lucky?"

"This," Jack said as he reloaded the weapon, "Something that I should have done long ago."

Jim Stalin aimed the weapon, a non-descript assault rifle long since illegal but easily obtained by mooks everywhere, straight at the old 8-track player and pulled the trigger. A lot of sparks flew out of the unit followed by an ejection of the cartridge and several miles of tape.

"Man," Jack said, "I need my Indian guy!"

"Yes," Jim said, almost soothingly, "But look at the people along side us. They're cheering."

"Because of your idiot heroics?" Jack wondered.

"No!" the driver next to him yelled, "Because he shot your 8-track player!"

"Figures," Jack said, "No respect for the gay Jewish black dude."

"Onward," Jim told him, "We have a party to get to."

"Where?" Jack asked, "We never did find that out."

"Doesn't matter," Jim shrugged, "Just drive out of this chapter and we'll get there by the next one."

Jack nodded and did so. The chapter mercifully ended.

## Chapter IX – Old Dude in a Creepy House

Jack Wack pulled the dilapidated Gremlin to a stop in front of J. Simon Ferguson's posh mansion. Ferguson was known as an expert on any subject that had to relate to six thousand year old dead people. Jim Stalin opened the door and looked a bit bemused as it fell off the shot up hinges and landed on the ground.

"Beautiful," Jim said, "At least we're in one piece."

"Right," Jack agreed, "Too bad the car isn't."

They walked up the long, opulent walkway up to a house that would have been just as appropriate as a double for the Munsters than it was for the high class neighborhood where it was actually located. Jim and Jack looked at each other and realized that they had been told this was a dress party.

"My clothes were destroyed in the car," Jack said, "I'm betting you forgot yours completely."

"Yes," Jim agreed, "But that is to be expected during the obligatory car chase."

"So what do we do?" Jack asked, "Pull tuxedos out of our ass?"

"I was thinking out of the statue's ass," Jim said, "Less likely to get us in trouble with the censors."

Jim Stalin walked over and pulled two tuxedos out of the concrete nether regions of a large statue of Benny Hill that just happened to be standing next to the doorway. Seeing that this is a book and no one is able to see them they changed their clothes and made themselves look good. Jim actually managed to get his hair to stay in the right place before he went back up to the door.

"Works for me," Jack said, admiring himself in the reflection of the water below a statue of Shemp Howard, "We're a couple of fine looking mofos tonight, Stalin my man."

"Watch it," Jim said, "You may be a gay Jewish black dude, but I need to stay overtly hetero if you want this to become a movie. Especially after all those idiotic amendments that passed in the last election."

"I thought this was supposed to be funny," Jack said, "Why did you bring that up?"

"Easy," Jim said, "All I have to do to make this funny again is remind you of the fact that you are a gay Jewish black dude who is stuck with a lucky hetero cracker. That should be funny enough to make up for it."

"Not to mention this guy's house," Jack said, "Statues of Benny Hill and Shemp Howard are pretty damn funny too."

"I guess we should knock on the door," Jim suggested, "Seeing as we've been ready for a while now."

"If we must," Jack agreed, "Feel free, hero man."

Jim Stalin knocked on the door and waited for some sort of answer. He really was not expecting to get the answer that he actually got. Instead of someone actually walking to the door it creaked open all by itself, revealing a really creepy looking place inside. There was noise coming in, but it was far enough off that it was difficult to pinpoint.

"Damn," Jack said, "This place is wack!"

"Just like you," Jim said, looking inside, "I guess we'd best go inside."

They walked into the doorway and looked around. Ferguson was definitely rich. His taste in expensive and gaudy Neolithic art proved that. Although among the pieces were seemingly incongruous pieces of memorabilia from 20th century comedians and bad television shows. The whole place was designed simply to exhibit all of this garbage that was brought in from all corners of the globe and Hollywood.

"Welcome," a tall man wearing makeup to make him look like Lurch from the Addams family said, "I take it you are the men that Admiral Sackenbrenner informed us would be coming."

"Are you J. Simon Ferguson?" Jim asked, looking around, "And what is up with this place?"

"I am the butler," Lurch said, "My given name is Ezekiel but everyone calls me Lurch."

"I wonder why, brother," Jack said, "So where is this Ferguson dude?"

"He is in with the rest of the party," Lurch told them, "We have been expecting you. Walk this way."

Lurch dragged himself into the room. Jim and Jack, being the smartasses they are, dragged themselves in aping the movements of the large butler. Lurch ignored them, as he knew how unintelligent they were. The guests of the party were spread around the room looking at the various pieces of Neolithic art and making way for Jim and Jack to go straight to the short old man who invariably had to be J. Simon Ferguson.

"So you're Sackenbrenner's man," Ferguson said, "You are taking that hero role from the other prick then?"

"Yeah," Jim said, referring to the previous hero whose name was not important to this book, "I'm the guy. Cool name, cool face, cool car and a gay Jewish black dude for a sidekick. What more could you ask for?"

"A plot," J. Simon Ferguson said, "But since I don't think I'm going to get my wish there I guess I'll have to help you advance with what you do have for one."

"Oh yes," Jack said, "Here's the artifact. It is really, really old."

"I see that," Ferguson agreed, "Neolithic in origin, probably supplied by Artifact Synthetic Services for this story. Maybe it was recycled from Indiana Jones too, but that's beside the point."

"Usually is," Jim agreed, "So what can you tell me about it?"

"Not a hell of a lot," Ferguson said, "The author still hasn't bothered to determine just what the hell the Black Fossil is."

"Well this artifact kinda has to tell us something about it," Jack said, coming to Jim's aid, "They killed a pretty blonde chick to get it. Managed to actually piss Jim off a bit. That takes some doing, don't you know?"

"I'm sure," Ferguson said coolly, "Now why do you think this about this innocuous little object?"

"Because they killed Alex and tried to kill me," Jim repeated, "There's another reason?"

"Philistines," Ferguson said derisively, "Very well. Since you aren't going to leave until I examine it and tell you something about it you might as well come on up to my office. I must consult a good book for that."

"Don't tell me this is going biblical," Jack moaned, "I had enough of that at the polls last week..."

"Not that good book you idiot," Ferguson said, "Come on upstairs and I will show you."

The three of them left the party full of people who did not matter to this book and went into the crowded office that belonged to the research team that J. Simon Ferguson funded to keep him with new objects of Neolithic and comedic art. Ferguson went over to the one bookshelf that he knew would have the volume he needed to end this plot advancement section.

"Where's the book?" Jim asked, "On the shelf?"

"Right here," Ferguson said, showing it to them, "Take a good look, you may need to find your own copy at some point..."

Ferguson held up a copy of the book "Beginner Plot Advancement for Dummies" that came out sometime between the Neolithic period and last week. Both Jim and Jack were amazed that this plot had degenerated to the point where such a book was needed, but here we are. Ferguson spent a few agonizing minutes searching through the book for some actual material to use.

"Very well," Jim said, "That's enough lollygagging. Where are we going next?"

"I guess we need to actually define the Black Fossil," Ferguson said, "Much as I'd hoped I'd be able to shuck this off onto someone else, I guess it would be a waste to send you on your way now."

"We could do a spooky story time?" Jim suggested, "That way you get almost as much entertainment out of the story as everyone else."

"Or you can do it in song," Jack suggested, "You look like a song and dance man."

"Or in rhyme?" Jim suggest.

"Enough!" Ferguson yelled, "I think we will do it in interpretive dance! Lurch, bring my cane and a twister mat!"

## Chapter X – The Interpretive Dance of the Black Fossil

"Why do I get the feeling that I'm not going to like this?" Jim Stalin asked, "I get bored just watching someone dance on television."

"Well," Jack Wack shrugged, "It could be worse, I mean you could be going to a Ralph Nader 2008 rally."

"I'm bored," Jim said, "Not lonely. Ok, since it appears that writing these gratuitous Nader jokes are not going to dissuade the author from doing this idiotic interpretive dance routine I guess we'd better watch what J. Simon Ferguson is going to do."

In less than the time it took to count the Ralph Nader votes, Ferguson managed to get out into the room wearing a very shiny outfit that looked like it was bought from Michael Jackson's post-Neverland sale. He even looked a little like Jackson, except for the fact that he was taller, older, thinner and had a little less skin pigment than Jackson did.

"Is there at least beer with this?" Jim wondered, "Or something stronger?"

"Suck it up and bear it," Jack said, "You could be in Alexandra's shoes."

"Alexandra is dead," Jim reminded him, "At least she doesn't have to watch this."

"Do you want to learn about the Black Fossil or not?" Ferguson asked them, "Now shut up and watch the dancing..."

Jim and Jack shut up and sat down while they waited for the music to start. Lurch, knowing how annoying his boss was, mercifully brought out alcohol, which Jim started downing liberally. Jack just chuckled and watched his friend drink, grateful for the fact that he was driving.

A weird post-modern eurotrash type of music started playing and the lights dimmed. Jim drank some more as Ferguson danced out into the dance area and made several dozen moronic movements, complicated by the fact that he was old and very much out of shape.

"What the hell is this telling us about the Black Fossil?" Jim asked, "This is ridiculous."

Ferguson kept dancing and then went into a faux Rockette routine, where he danced and kicked and managed to kick Jim Stalin square in the balls. Jack, being a lot more sober than Jim, managed to shield himself from the blow and watch the rather interesting interpretive dance that seemed to have nothing to do with the plot.

This went on for a long time until Ferguson was satisfied that he'd wasted enough time and words and went on to try to explain what this fossil thing was. He had no idea, of course, as nobody has even thought of even trying to explain what it was to him. Jim yawned as he watched Ferguson try to come up with an explanation.

Ferguson danced over and turned on the lights a little. He then started to play charades in an attempt to explain just what this thing was. Jack noticed it first, but Jim soon caught on and realized that getting through this was probably going to be the only way he would be able to get out of that house and into something more interesting.

"Ok," Jim said, watching intently, "He's trying to tell us something..."

Ferguson nodded and pointed at the artifact he was still carrying around. Neither Jim nor Jack wanted to know where he pulled it out from, since his suit had no pockets, but that was beside the point. Ferguson danced around and pointed at the runes.

"Ok," Jack said, letting his buddy style intelligence take over, "This is about the runes..."

Ferguson put his finger to his nose. He danced over and pointed to the jacket his butler was wearing, a dark black tuxedo jacket that contrasted nicely with his pale gray skin. Once he did that, he started making motions like a dinosaur. Jim saw right away what it was and blurted out the wrong thing...

"A roaring butler!" Jim exclaimed, "This is easy!"

Ferguson shook his head and frowned at Jim. He went over to the hero, smacked him upside the head, and pointed at the title that was sitting prominently in the header of the page. Jim grinned sheepishly and nodded.

"The Black Fossil," Jack said, frowning at his friend, "Right?"

Ferguson smiled and put his finger on his nose. He then pranced around the room a few times and started on his next charade. He started dancing around and trying to simulate a native dance. Neither Jim nor Jack got it, so he tried something else. He kept thinking and dancing and prancing until it got to the point that Jim was excessively annoyed at him.

Jim finally walked over, pulled a pistol out of a collector's rack on the side of the room, and walked over to J. Simon Ferguson. He cocked the weapon, which because it fits the needs of this story is actually loaded and ready to go, and aimed it into J. Simon Ferguson's nether regions.

"We've wasted over eight hundred words with this interpretive dance crap," Jim told him, "Now sit down and tell me just what the hell this Black Fossil is and do it before I lose my patience anymore."

"Bravo, Jim," Ferguson smiled, "I was getting a bit bored by this bit myself. Why don't I sit down and try to explain this folly, eh?"

"Subtle, Jim," Jack said, shaking his head, "Very subtle."

"Subtlety is overrated," Jim said, "So what does this ridiculous thing tell us?"

"The artifact is from the Neolithic era," Ferguson said, "It is a rare find indeed, one of the few artifacts remaining from the moronican people of the unknown plain. Very little is known about them, except for a few legends that were passed on through folklore and a retelling found on a matchbook from Hoboken in 1923."

"Sounds good so far," Jim said, "I take it the Black Fossil is theirs as well?"

"Sort of," Ferguson agreed, "The runes on this are very old and something I learned to read in some god awful place that I was able to spend some time as a kid. It doesn't mean a whole lot to the layman, but they are very descriptive in a way that would bore you for me to tell."

"Translation," Jack said, "You don't know but you're making it up as you go along to actually define this ridiculous black fossil thingy."

"Exactly," Ferguson said, "The Black Fossil is not just an object, but it is a sacred object to the descendants of the moronican people."

"Who is that?" Jim asked.

"I don't rightly know," Ferguson admitted, "I think they died centuries ago. No matter. It is what the Black Fossil does that is more important than what it means to those people."

"I'm more concerned with what it is," Jim told them, "Can we start with that?"

"Well," Ferguson said, "It is a fossil that is black. I think it is the mummified remains of an unmentionable part of the first leader of the moronicans."

"Lovely," Jack said, "We can always use new sex toys at the office."

"Well," Ferguson said, "Funny that you mention that. The last known location of the Black Fossil was in Central Europe sometime. It was paraded through the town by a generically named man and his odd friend. The locals remembered it well, as that too became a story for the ages. It brought life to the greatest orgy of renaissance times."

"So where did this take place?" Jim asked him, "Since I guess this is going to be our next idiotic location."

"Well," Ferguson said, "The legends never really did say. Popular lore always put it in Italy, but that was never confirmed. Due to the Catholic Church's disapproval of such things the holders of said Orgy scattered to the winds and only the legends of the Black Fossil last to this day."

"But that artifact..." Jim said, hoping to prod more information.

"The artifact gives the location of the orgy," Ferguson told them, "In terms that I can actually pinpoint. It is a 16th century representation of the original Neolithic runes. The only known source of these particular runes in the 16th century would have been in the noble houses in France."

"You gotta be kidding me!" Jack Wack exclaimed, "France? As in rude waiters, bad accents, can't go to work because I'm surrendering in a war today France?"

"That would be the France in question, yes," Ferguson said, "This artifact is the last known invitation to that party, which was lost on a French transport ship to Louisiana in 1796."

"That explains how it showed up on that rotten little island I was on," Jim said, "It was somewhere in the tropics. That ship probably was grounded on the reefs of that island. They probably made the traps to protect it just because they were bored."

"Don't forget the fact that it made the story interesting," Jack said, "What fun would it have been to have you find it on a beach easily?"

"Good point," Jim agreed, "So where in France are we looking for this?"

"I'd start at the Louvre," Ferguson said, "It will give you a chance to spoof the Da Vinci code."

"Sweet!" Jack said, "Da Vinci's Orgy! I think we have a new direction to go!"

"Just so long as we don't have to ride the same airplane," Jim sighed, "Ok. Let's go to Paris."

"Find Jacques âne Abruti," Ferguson told them, "I have translated it from the runes to the 15th century language used. I don't understand it either, but Abruti is the one man who can translate the rest of this to the point that it is usable."

"Here we go again," Jim said, "Stuck between an artifact and a hard on."

## Chapter XI – Jim Stalin Goes To Paris

"How the hell did we get here?" Jack Wack asked as they walked out of the airport, "Weren't we just talking to that prissy Ferguson dude?"

"Shhh," Jim told him, shucking the uncomfortable tuxedo for the loud Hawaiian shirt underneath it, "Not nice to point out holes in the plot, even if they are big enough to drive Anna Nicole Smith's ass through."

"You realize in another three years that joke is going to be utterly humorless?" Jack asked him, "Just like that shirt is now?"

"So is Sackenbrenner," Jim shrugged, "But either he hasn't left the office and seen his Yugo yet or figured that sending me to France was ample punishment."

"So is that shirt," Jack shuddered, "So do we have any contacts here?"

"Not a one?" Jim said, "So we do what any red blooded American would do in France?"

"Visit Oscar Wilde's grave and party?" Jack asked hopefully, knowing he would be disappointed.

"That's what I get for having a gay Jewish Black dude for a sidekick," Jim frowned, "No. We're going to go straight to the Louvre and piss off someone enough so that they will help us figure out where Da Vinci might have had that orgy."

"Are you sure that you want to do that?" Jack asked him, "I mean this is going to be a spoof of the Da Vinci code, so we should give the author a chance to read it again."

"True," Jim agreed, "But if the author has any sense he'll either fake it or stop writing long enough to read a piece of it."

"Ok," Jack agreed, "But at this point we're still not helping him waste any words, which is what he needs more than anything."

"That is the truth," Jim nodded, "So maybe we should go to a restaurant and have dinner while being waited on by a snooty waiter?"

"Sure," Jack said, "That will work. Especially if it gives us a chance to meet the bad guys again."

"Mmm," Jim said, thinking about Reizvolle's curves, "Maybe I can get some more eye candy too."

"Think Adam is that good looking?" Jack wondered, forgetting that his friend was straight.

"No," Jim said, smacking Jack upside the head, "Let's go to a restaurant. You know they will show up."

"What would your wife say about you thinking about that blonde?" Jack asked him.

"Selene won't know," Jim said, "And that woman is worth drooling over."

"I thought her name was Sherry," Jack said, "Didn't we have dinner with her last year?"

"Whatever," Jim shrugged, "It doesn't matter."

"Think they'll try to kill us again?" Jack asked, ignoring the shot, "I'm getting rather annoyed with that, by the way."

Jim went out and found the car rental place. It wasn't hard to find out what they would be driving. Admiral Sackenbrenner had finally found his beloved Yugo and made certain that they would be driving appropriate transportation. The nearly destroyed Gremlin that had been left outside the airport in America had been transported on a military transport plane and put outside the rental place, with instructions that it was the only vehicle they were to drive.

"Man," Jack said, "You have to admire the Admiral's vindictiveness. It takes work to get a broken down Gremlin from the U.S. to Paris in less time than it takes us to fly here on a commercial jet."

"Nice," Jim agreed, "Think it still runs?"

"One way to find out," Jack shrugged, pulling out his keys, "Let's drive."

They managed to get around in Paris traffic, despite the fact that neither one of them spoke a word of French. Despite several dozen near misses and the fact that Jack had never been in Paris before they managed to get to one of the best restaurants in all of France. The name was something that no one cares about because it is French and it is boring anyway. At least I think so, and I am writing this story so sod off if you do not agree.

"I think this is the place," Jim said, "It looks snooty enough."

"Are we dressed right for it?" Jack wondered, "I mean I always look good, but you generally look pretty rumpled dude."

"We're still wearing the tuxedos," Jim reminded him, "You think we had time to change clothes between chapters? Let's go inside."

They walked in to the posh restaurant and saw plenty of snooty French people littered the place eating very snooty food and looked down at Jim and Jack because they were obviously Americans. Jim shrugged and went up to the head waiter, whose name was so obviously snooty that it won't be repeated here, and demanded a table.

"Ok slimeball," Jim said, "I need a table and I need it now."

"Now see here," the waiter said with a horrible French Accent that I won't repeat here, "You may be some American swine, but what makes you think that you will get a table here?"

"Twenty bucks," Jack said, trying to act cool enough to cover for his friend's impetuousness, "My name is Jack Wack my friend and we're here to partake in some of your very fine cuisine."

"You are not a normal American," the snooty waiter said, "You're one of those homo types..."

"I'm a 100% Gay Jewish Black Dude," Jack said, "And that twenty is just for you, my man."

"Get out of here," the snooty waiter said, "You moron."

"My turn," Jim said and walked over to the waiter, "Now, are you going to do better than that?"

"Get out of here you American loser," the waiter told him, "I piss on your soufflé."

"You hear that, Jack?" Jim chuckled, "He pissed on my soufflé. I think he needs to pay for that."

"Do your worst my man," Jack said, "He's a snooty jerk."

Jim Stalin went over and looked around to make sure that there were no police around. Of course there were not any, as it would be counterproductive to this bit as it is being written just to state how much the author dislikes snooty restaurants and snooty jerks who think they're better than anyone else.

"Ok," Jack said to the author, "Stop that whining and start with the funny stuff."

Jim went over to the snooty waiter and did a few distraction maneuvers. He then held out a hand as if to shake hands, though he kept his fist balled up. The snooty waiter, of course, had never seen a Three Stooges film and smacked the balled fist out of the way. Jim was pleased to complete the maneuver and let the fist go around in a circle and smacked the waiter on top of the head.

"Nyuk, Nyuk, Nyuk," Jim said in a Curly imitation, "Wise guy, eh?"

Jack chuckled as Jim went through a few minutes worth of Stooge moves, complete with smacks, eye pokes and a set of pliers applied to the snooty waiter's nose. Jack only shook his head at the display, because he knew it was pointless and they were going to get to go inside anyway.

"Ok," Jim said, "Here's the finale, are you ready?"

He walked a few steps away, turned around, and did the Curly shuffle across the waiting room and kicked the snooty waiter in the stomach, knocking him backwards into a conveniently placed fountain. He landed roughly and you could almost see the birdies flying around his head as the water came down on top of him.

"Don't get up," Jim said, "We'll take care of ourselves."

They walked into the restaurant and took a seat, where a lower waiter who had witnessed the display calmly and happily took their orders. What else did you expect, Jim to beat down the entire restaurant? That would be overkill. Just wait until next chapter when Adam and Reizvolle join our hero and the gay Jewish black dude for a nice quiche soufflé.

"Oh god," Jack moaned, "Not more soufflé."

"Just so long as the waiter doesn't piss in it," Jim shrugged, "Garcon! Your best champagne!"

## Chapter XII – Dinner for Four

"Ok," Jack said as they walked to the table, "Two chapters ago Adam Dirtpassion tried to kill us. Why the hell are we about to sit down and have dinner with him?"

"Because they are in the same idiotic boat we are," Jim shrugged, "You think they have anything more to do with this story being as stupid as it is than we do?"

"Can we at least stick them with the check?" Jack wondered, "Because I think this is in very poor taste."

"I wouldn't mind sticking Reizvolle with something else," Jim grinned, "And how would you know about taste anyway?"

"I'm a gay jewish black dude?" Jack reminded him, "Ever see Queer Eye for the Straight Guy? I put your hetero ass to shame when it comes to taste."

"I wouldn't know," Jim shrugged, "I've never tasted you."

"And you never will," Jack assured him, "Even I have standards..."

"Boys, boys, boys," Reizvolle cooed as she sashayed over to the table, "Who do I get to sit next to?"

"I guess Jim will give a seat to you," Jack said, "So to what do we owe the honor of your visit?"

"General boredom," Adam said, "I think the author wanted to do something to have us get to meet each other before we eventually had to fight to the death."

"I'm sure we'll get to know each other plenty," Jim agreed, "We still have some twenty nine thousand words to go through before they relieve us of this pain."

"I take it you followed us," Jack said, looking at them, "Seeing that you are here in Paris some twenty minutes after we arrived."

"We have better travel agents," Reizvolle told them sultrily, "And I have the, let's say assets, to get better seats from a male clerk..."

"Translation," Jim frowned, "You don't work for the government."

"Exactly," Adam agreed, "That's it in a nutshell."

"So why are you trying to find this?" Jack asked them, "You showed up and tried to kill Jim, did kill Alexandra and now you're trying to kill me too."

"My motivations will become clear later on," Adam assured them, "As will Reizvolle's."

"Translation," Jim said, "The author doesn't have a clue and neither do you, so you're feeding us that line to keep things going."

"Exactly," Adam agreed, "Now where is the food?"

Another snooty French waiter brought some food out to them. He didn't understand any English, nor did he care to try to figure out what the Americans wanted. He slopped down a pile of prissy looking French food and made it look as unappetizing as possible.

"Lovely," Reizvolle smarmed, "I see you already made an impression."

"Don't eat the soufflé," Jim suggested, "Trust me on that."

"So what do we talk about?" Jack wondered, "I mean we're all sitting here at a table covered with disgusting food and on opposite sides of the game here. There is no reason for this scene to exist."

"We will get what we're looking for," Adam told them, "Count on it."

"You know what we need," Jim said, "Another musical bit."

"That's what got Alexandra shot," Reizvolle said erotically, "Remember?"

"Well," Jack said, "At this point I'm all for it. We've wasted this much time with this idiotic section, we might as well go all the way for a full blown musical number."

"I don't want anything to do with it," Adam said, "Unless it's to protest our complete and utter lack of a plot."

"Maestro!" Jim said, "Could we have the music to a song from the Wizard of Oz please? I'm sure you'll figure out the right one..."

Jim Stalin snapped his fingers and the band, who did not understand a word he was saying, started to play the music to the old classic one that fit him best, If I Only Had A Brain. The room applauded the music and felt it very appropriate to the ridiculous scene that they had all found themselves a part of.

"I could while away the hours," Jim sang, doing his worst lounge singer imitation, "Conferring with the bloggers... Confusing is as was my refrain..."

"He's delusional," Reizvolle said dreamily, "I love it..."

"And the stupidity may be exacting," Jim sang, "This type of tripe I am dispatching... If I only had a plot..."

"And so the truth comes in," Jack grinned, "Go for it, Jim."

"I'd create a brand new riddle," Jim continued, "For every individual, but instead I cause this pain..."

"No kidding," Adam agreed.

"It is thoughts you would be thinking," Jim sang, "Instead of soufflés in which we were piddling... If you only had a plot."

"We'll get one someday," Adam said, "In a cemetery with the way this story is going."

"Shush," Jack barked, "Enough!"

"I could tell you why the Gremlin is running some more," Jim continued, "I could think of twists you'd never seen before..."

Jim did a little dance before he went into his grand finale

"And then I'd sit and play some more. I would not be just an American with a head all full of swearing, the censors jobs all in vain" Jim sang his heart out, "I would not dance or sing or drink sherry, life would be more than ancillary, if we only had a plot..."

"This is easily the dumbest thing I've ever been a party to," Jack said, "I can't believe we've sunk this low."

"You obviously weren't there on the island," Adam grumbled, "So what do we do from here? I can't shoot either of you. They didn't bother to give me a gun."

"I guess we eat some dinner," Reizvolle said lustily, "We still have quite a bit to do before we actually have to run around Paris chasing each other."

"I'd suggest avoiding the soufflé," Jack suggested, remembering the earlier threat, "Stick with the quiche."

"Ugh," Jim said, "Can I get a hamburger?"

They actually managed to eat the food, though they all followed Jack's advice and skipped the rather yellowish soufflé. By the end of the meal they had all had some wine and plenty of food. They looked around and tried to figure out a graceful way to end this meal without them killing each other.

"So what do we do now?" Jack wondered, "I mean we still have some twenty seven thousand words or so to go. Why are we sitting together singing, drinking and eating well?"

"Because we needed the obligatory get to know you scene," Jim said, "And she is damn hot."

"Thank you," Reizvolle cooed, "I appreciate that."

"I still don't know why we're looking for this object," Adam said, "Can we decide that before you leave?"

"Sure," Jim agreed, "I don't see any reason why not."

"We've wanted the black fossil for years," Reizvolle said lasciviously, "It has powers that a mind a small as yours will never understand."

"Such as?" Jim wondered, trying to get more information, "I mean, what use could it have that is relevant today."

"Just ask your President Clinton," Adam said, "He spent millions trying to find it."

"That doesn't tell me what it does," Jim said, "I mean the only thing it ever did was cause an orgy..."

"It does more than that," Reizvolle told them, the words rolling sexily off her tongue, "It creates the urge for them, just bringing it through that town created that orgy..."

"Oh my," Jim said, "D.C. is bad enough... Can you imagine if they brought that thing in..."

"It would be chaos," Adam grinned, "Beautiful, sweet chaos. All caused by a single black fossil."

"We can't let you succeed," Jack said, "You know that, right?"

"You mean you'd care?" Adam asked, "Honestly?"

"We're government employees," Jim told him, "We're paid to care. Or not. I never figured out what they paid us for. But in this case I think we'll be better off stopping you."

"Why is that?" Adam wondered, "I never did get that part."

"Because if I stopped trying to stop you," Jim said, his mouth forming a wide grin, "This book would end here and we still have a good twenty-seven thousand words and change to go. So we're going to be chasing each other around for a bit."

"I have other plans," Reizvolle said sleekly, "But I will think of you..."

Reizvolle Dirne stood up and bowed, showing enough cleavage to make both of the straight men drool. Adam, deciding that it would probably better to follow the hot blonde than stick with the hero and the gay Jewish black dude, followed her bottom with his eyes and the rest of her body with his feet.

"So what do we do next, buddy?" Jack asked him, "I'm tired."

"Let's go get some sleep," Jim shrugged, "Let them do the obligatory da Vinci code rip off before we go to that museum place."

"The Louvre?" Jack asked him.

"Whatever," Jim shrugged, "Want some soufflé?"

## Chapter XIII – The Da Vinci Mold

This chapter has absolutely no factual basis whatsoever. The author has never set foot in France and has studiously avoided doing any research whatsoever because he is a complete idiot. Everything said here is quite probably wrong, but that did not dissuade him from writing this crap anyway. You were warned.

Jacques âne Abruti walked through the museum floor, doing his walkthrough as he did every night before everything closed and the machine guns were deployed. He took his time as he usually did, enjoying the art as much as he did, especially without the influx of annoying Americans who usually came in to admire art that they did not understand. He hated them as he hated a case of athlete's foot.

He spent extra time at the Mona Lisa, just as he usually did. It also fits the chapter title, so he figured he might as well spend some time looking at the famous woman with the bemused smile. He briefly wondered if she was cool in person or whether she was a complete ice bitch. He then realized his mind was wandering and decided to stop it before he thought about another sexual adventure between himself, Mona Lisa and Michelangelo's David.

"Get it together Jacques," he said to himself in accented English so the readers could understand him, "There is no time for this."

He walked a bit further down the hallway looking at the various pieces of art. It was a wondrous thing for him, something most people do not ever get to experience, walking down the halls of one of the greatest museums in the world with nary a soul to get in the way. It was soothing and exhilarating, something that he did every chance he got.

Jacques started walking back to his office when he noticed something abnormal. There were footsteps in the hallway, something that was expressly forbidden after the closing. He considered going to his office, which would have given him some safety, but he was the usual idiot who appeared in stories like this and eschewed the safety of the office in order to satisfy his curiosity.

"Who is out there?" Jacques asked the dead air, "You can't be here!"

Of course the people out there, if there was anything more than Jacques imagination, were smart enough not to give themselves away. Abruti shook it off and started going over towards his office. Of course, this turned out to be a bad move as well as it was just outside the door that he ran across the two villains of our story here.

"What?" Adam asked, "Were you expecting anything less?"

"Who the hell are you?" Jacques âne Abruti asked them, "How did you get by security?"

"Your security is a joke," Adam said, "All Reizvolle had to do was flash her tits at the guards and they let us through."

"Rightly so," Jacques said, looking at Reizvolle's chest, "But why are you here?"

"You have knowledge that we need," Reizvolle said seductively, "I'm here to see that we get the knowledge from your head."

"What knowledge?" Jacques wondered, "I'm a curator, I know lots of things..."

"We want to know about a certain orgy," Adam said, managing to keep a straight face, "One reputed to have happened at the beginning of the fifteenth century."

"An orgy?" Jacques asked, "I know nothing about any orgy!"

"Sure you do," Reizvolle cooed, "And you are going to tell us."

"You are the foremost expert on Leonardo Da Vinci in the world," Adam said, "You have to know the legend of the Black Fossil."

"Legend... Yes, I have heard of it," Jacques agreed, "But it is a fool's errand. The Black Fossil is a myth, nothing more."

"A myth that is going to get us the world domination we crave," Adam said, "Now that orgy was the last known location of the Black Fossil. You know where it was."

"What makes you think so?" Jacques wondered, "Why would I know about the sex life of a man who has been dead for nearly five hundred years."

"Because you're the expert," Adam reminded him, "Now start talking."

"You're mad!" Jacques exclaimed, "I know nothing of the sort!"

Jacques âne Abruti took this opportunity to run into the corridor, pushing a moderately valuable statue over to slow down Adam and Reizvolle. They chased him, but in order for this to work properly we need to show as much of the Louvre as we can. We also need a chance to allow the curator to think about this aloud.

He thought about this being insane, because it was something he thought would never happen. No one had ever asked him about Da Vinci's Orgy before. It was a subject he had been prepared to dodge all his life, but it had finally been asked and asked at the point of a gun. He had to find the da Vinci section and protect it from those sacrilegious fools. The secret of the Da Vinci Mold was one that he could not allow to be taken by villains such as these.

Adam and Reizvolle had deliberately skipped out on having mooks with them for this one, mainly because they had proved exceedingly ineffective in the past. They continued chasing the curator and wondering why the curator was so adamant about not telling them anything.

The curator suddenly had a vision popping in his head of the security system that had been so painstakingly developed over the years. He went over and pulled a painting off the wall, a very expensive one that made him cringe to yank and drop. The maneuver had the desired effect, sort of. The security gates started dropping and the curator ran smack into one of them that was dropping in front of him.

"There he is!" Adam yelled, "Stop him!"

Abruti dodged under the falling gate and managed to get in another room. Adam slid under the gates and managed to get near enough to the curator to fire a shot at him. The curator took the shot in the arm, painful but not debilitating. Reizvolle was nowhere to be found, mainly because she could add little to the scene and the author did not want to write dialog for her.

By the time the gates all came down Adam was trapped nearly two grids away from the curator. Abruti looked for cover, but there was not much. Adam fired a couple of shots, but he was not ready to kill the curator either. He needed to get the information from the man before he died.

"Come now, Abruti," Adam said, "It isn't that bad. It is the site of an orgy some five hundred years ago. What harm can come of telling me?"

"Because of what an idiot like you would do with it," Abruti said, "The security system has been triggered. The police will be here soon."

"Not soon enough," Adam said, "Now tell me what I need to know. I am no mook, I can actually hit a target every once in a while."

Just to prove his point Adam shot a statue that was a foot from Abruti's head. Of course, this triggered another piece of the security system that dropped another iron gate down in the middle of the section Adam was standing in. It made no sense for it to do this, but it was seriously funny to see the iron gate come down and land on Adam Dirtpassion's foot. The tirade of foul language that came out afterwards was nearly as humorous.

"That's it!" Adam yelled, "No more mister Nice Guy!"

Adam Dirtpassion fired two well directed shots at Jacques âne Abruti's legs, causing the curator to scream and fall onto the floor. Dirtpassion managed to pull his now broken foot out from under the iron gate and watch as the curator started bleeding on the well carpeted floor.

"Now," Dirtpassion said, not even trying to mask his anger now, "You're going to give me what I want to know otherwise the next one hits you square in the balls."

"Do you want the truth or the lie that I carefully crafted for this very situation?" Abruti asked him, "I don't want to get shot again."

"I want the truth," Adam said simply, "But since I doubt the author is going to let you give it to men you might as well give me the carefully crafted bull."

"Very well," Abruti said, "The location is a dilapidated little church outside the city limits. You will know it because it has a big neon sign saying that this is the location of the 15th century orgy. It will tell you what you need to know."

"That works," Adam agreed, "Very well. You know that matches up with what the other three people said."

"Yes," Abruti agreed, "The three people who remain unnamed due to a lack of budget for extra characters, yes. They would have all told you the same thing."

"I do need to shoot you now," Adam said, "Dreadfully sorry about that fact, but the book will pretty well stall if I don't."

"I could just pretend to be dead, couldn't I?" Abruti asked hopefully, "I mean that would be just about the same."

"I'm the bad guy," Adam reminded him, "I can't have that sort of mercy."

"Very well," Abruti sighed, "If you must."

Adam shot the man twice in the stomach. This, of course, emptied his weapon. He then waited for Reizvolle to get off her pretty ass and open up the iron gates. It took a few minutes, but the gates started rising. Adam walked quickly, but paused to make sure the man was not moving. While he did so, the gate he stopped behind managed to come down, smashing on his foot again.

"Arrgh!" Adam yelled, "Damn you woman!"

"Sorry," Reizvolle cooed over a convenient loudspeaker, "Should be coming up shortly."

The gate came up and Adam dragged his foot out. He was annoyed by this, but he left the building. Reizvolle joined him and they made their way out the back, ensuring that the recorders in the building would not be able to catch their escape.

This left Jacques âne Abruti dying in a pool of his own blood. He knew he had given bad information to Adam and Reizvolle, but that wouldn't do anything for him now. He had received a call earlier from an American he had worked with before, J. Simon Ferguson. The cranky old man had told them about the two crazy Americans that he had sent to him. He knew why, so he had to get the information to them.

"Think," Abruti said to himself, "We need to get the information to them."

He then remembered that he didn't need to think of it himself, as he was dying someone would think of it for him. So he moved himself to the point that he could get to the position he needed to do. He did some god awfully painful contortions and got himself into the necessary position. He knew enough about the human body to know how to position himself correctly that he would fall into the right position in rigor. He just hoped that he would go ahead and die soon so the pain would stop...

## Chapter XIV – Paging Jim Stalin

Jim Stalin and Jack Wack sat in the dining area of the hotel that the government had paid for. Admiral Sackenbrenner may have stuck them with the dilapidated Gremlin for transportation, but his cruel sense of humor did not extend to their living arrangements. They were actually dining on some rather decent looking food.

"What is this?" Jim asked his friend, "It looks good, but I'm almost afraid to try it."

"It's not a soufflé," Jack assured him, taking a bite, "It's good for you."

"You don't know what it is either, do you?" Jim said, seeing the look in Jack's eyes, "Ugh."

"It tastes good," Jack shrugged, "Starve for all I care. We need to go to see that Abruti guy today."

"Yep," Jim nodded as he took a halting bite, "That's true. We do. We'll do it after breakfast."

"If we get a chance," Jack noted, "Look over there. Any bets on whether those dudes are French cops or not?"

"Of course they are," Jim shrugged, eating a bit more food, "You're right, this isn't bad."

"So why are you not worried about this?" Jack wondered, eating quickly because he knew he would not have long, "Or are you?"

"Remember," Jim said, "This smacks of the Da Vinci Code. You know as well as I do that Abruti is probably dead by now and we'll have to interpret another silly puzzle."

"That does seem to be the recurring theme here," Jack admitted, "Probably will continue to be that way until we get close enough to fifty thousand words for the author to begin bringing this mess to a close."

"Exactly," Jim nodded, finishing his unidentifiable breakfast, "Let's talk to them before they decide to tell me just what the hell I ate."

"Jim Stalin?" the French cop said, "May we have a word with you?"

"Sure," Jim nodded, "Which one do you want? Dumb? Ass? Moron?"

"Try murder," Jack said, "From the look in their eyes your guess was right."

"Your friend is perceptive," the cop said, still not bothering to give a name, "Jacques âne Abruti was murdered last night. I understand you were supposed to meet him this morning?"

"Yes," Jim nodded, "We were supposed to see him. We quite obviously hadn't gotten to it yet."

"You never will," the cop said, "But we do need you to see something at the crime scene. Maybe it will make more sense to you than it did to us."

"You want Jim to look at a crime scene?" Jack said, almost in disbelief, "That's like asking Inspector Cluseau to solve something more sinister than a purse snatching."

"Save it," Jim told Jack, "Remember, this country loves Jerry Lewis. Their sense of humor is stunted. Let's go look at Abruti's bag of bones and see how we're doing."

"Right," Jack sighed, "Let's go."

"Follow us in your car," the French cop said, "I don't want to have to be seen with you."

"To the Gremlin we go," Jim said, "You're driving, buddy."

"If we're going to keep driving that thing I want the damned 8-Track player fixed," Jack said as he got up, "Let's hope it isn't raining, shall we?"

Of course it was raining, as it wouldn't have been funny otherwise for them to say this. The Gremlin started flawlessly, despite the excessive damage that had been inflicted on it in chapter eight. They drove quietly to the museum, trying to follow the police officers who were driving much too fast in the rain.

"I hate this car," Jim said, spitting out a mouthful of water, "You know this, right?"

"If you're lucky we'll get to destroy it later," Jack said, "Now let's go look at this dead man so we can get this story back on track."

"And out of France," Jim nodded, "I'm running out of bad jokes about the French and I'm sure after dealing with the daft head of Abruti's investigation we will be repeating ourselves."

"I'm confident you can come up with plenty of bad one liners," Jack assured him as he dodged a piece of debris kicked up by the police car in front of them, "If we survive the drive."

"We'll survive," Jim grinned, "We may suffer, but nothing really bad will happen to us. I'm the hero, remember?"

"That's true," Jack agreed, "And I'm the token gay Jewish black dude. You're right. All will be good."

With that Jack pulled the Gremlin into an illegal parking space, hoping that someone would tow it so they could claim it was stolen. They followed the lights up to the museum and looked for someone that was obviously the head of the investigation. Jim knew from experience that this man would be older, unstylishly dressed and fat, both in the body and head.

Jim walked up to the French police officers who were manning the door and flashed his governmental ID. Of course, since none of the officers spoke English, let alone were able to read it, they did not know what it said. Jack waited for them to be arrested, but of course they were let in anyway.

"We look trustworthy," Jim shrugged, "I guess we follow the sounds of the retching officers to find the body."

It was not hard to follow the sounds, as retching French officers made a unique noise, just as they did when they were surrendering. Jim and Jack walked into the room and looked for the one man who was too stupid to bother to retch. They rightly figured that this man would be the one who would be in charge of the situation and the description of older, unstylishly dressed and fat fit perfectly.

"I take it you're the one who asked for us," Jim said, "I'm Jim Stalin, and this is my partner Jack Wack."

"Oh yes," the man said with an unbelievably bad French accent, "I did send for you. I would like to show you what is causing my men to retch so uncontrollably."

Jim and Jack followed the annoying French inspector further into the building. Jack was more amused by the art than by the smell that was coming from the room where people were going in and retching. Jack made an effort to hold himself calm while they entered. Jim had seen worse in his days, so he didn't even worry about it.

"What is your name, by the way?" Jack asked belatedly, "No one told us who to ask for."

"I am Inspector Jean-Louis Bricon," he said, continuing his disdainful look towards the two Americans, "And if the corpse himself didn't request you I would piss in your soufflé."

"What is it with French people pissing in our soufflé?" Jack wondered, "Can't they just offer us a mediocre wine and be done with it?"

"Sounds like they should," Jim agreed, "So where is the corpse and how did it ask for us?"

"In writing," Bricon told them, "Come and look for yourself."

They walked into the reopened area and found out why everyone was retching. Jacques âne Abruti had managed to use a statue and his knowledge of his body to get himself into a really strange position. His eyes were wide open in death and rigor mortis had set in locking him in the position he took.

"Is he flipping us the bird?" Jack asked, "Man, that is grotesque. Adam and Reizvolle must be hard up for interesting things if they did that to him."

"I know not of who you speak you stupid American," Bricon hissed, "But they did not do this to him. The esteemed curator did this to himself."

"Why us?" Jim asked, "I mean we hadn't met him yet."

"He knew we were coming," Jack said, "Maybe Ferguson clued him in or something. I mean our trip wasn't that much of a secret."

"Typical," Bricon sneered, "You Americans think it is all about you. Well again, I piss in your soufflé!"

"Enough with the soufflé!" Jim exclaimed, "Damn man, this isn't funny anymore! Are you really that hard up for jokes here?"

"Yes," the author told them, "Now get off your ass and look at the corpse so I don't have to have that idiot Bricon piss on your soufflé again!"

"Ok," Jack said, "That's a mighty odd thing to do. It looks like he's flipping us off in death, doesn't it?"

"Right," Jim nodded, "He's also cupping his balls. It would be funny if it weren't so grotesque."

"He's propped against a statue," Jack noted, "Not just any statue either, but one a good twenty feet from where he was shot. See the blood over near the iron gates?"

"Yeah," Jim agreed, "So he dragged himself over here. Why though? Why not just write it down directly?"

"Because Adam would have been able to read that," Jack said, "He's dumb man, but he ain't that dumb."

"True," Jim said, "But we're not much smarter. How the hell are we supposed to figure this out?"

"Do we Frenchman have to do everything for you?" Bricon said, sneering as usual, "Fine then you bastards. I'll tell you what it means. You are looking for something having to do with the penis. Probably something that is right in front of your faces."

Jim and Jack grinned and went over to where Abruti's corpse was sitting. They looked straight ahead and saw a few drippings of blood heading over to a painting that was a bit crooked. Unlike the book this spoof is coming from, Abruti was not smart enough or in good enough shape to make it through all those contortions without making a mess.

"Let's look behind the painting," Jim said, "It's obvious that he moved it."

Jack nodded and went over to the painting, mainly because Jim was too clumsy to be trusted with a multi-million dollar piece of art. Bricon watched, but was not happy that the Americans were going anywhere near the precious art. It wasn't until he noticed that Jack was going to touch it that he realized this had to stop.

"No!" Bricon shouted, "Don't touch it you slimy American pain in the..."

Too late. Jack Wack moved the painting off the wall and set off the security system again. The iron gate came crashing down and this time landed on Jean-Louis Bricon's foot. He shouted obscenities loudly while his men ran around. Jim and Jack ignored the ruckus as they looked at the drawing behind the painting.

"That's Da Vinci's anatomical man drawing," Jack said, "What the hell is that other thing?"

"A rock with mold," Jim said, "He's pointing at the mold."

Bricon still yelled obscenities and the men around him didn't know whether they needed to help their boss or find the nearest soldier to surrender to. Jim and Jack took a few minutes to realize that they were essentially playing a game of pictionary with a dead man.

"The Da Vinci Mold!" Jack exclaimed, "We're looking for the Da Vinci Mold!"

"What the hell is that?" Jim wondered, "And why did Jacques âne Abruti die to protect it?"

"Because he wasn't much use alive," Jack reminded him, "And it still doesn't tell us what or where the Da Vinci Mold is."

"Ferguson might know that," Jim said, "And there might be another clue around here about somewhere."

"Look at the ceiling," Jack said as Bricon's men turned off the power to try to get the gate off their boss's foot, "It's a map..."

"Now that took dedication," Jim said, "But what of?"

"My office, you idiot!" the corpse grunted to them and died again, "Now finish this chapter!"

"Testy for a corpse, isn't he?" Jack said, "The X marks the spot. Let's go to the office."

"I think we should do the next chapter in song," Jim said, grinning, "We're going a bit too slow and they really need to move this along a bit, in both words and music."

"Fine, fine," Jack said, "Who sings this time?"

"We both do," Jim smiled, "Let's go."

## Chapter XV – I'd Do Anything For A Plot

"Ok," Jack said, "What song are we doing now?"

"Let's go with a strain of I'd Do Anything for Love," Jim said, "Go ahead and hit it maestro!"

They walked under the rising gate and made their way to the office that they had absolutely no reason to be able to find other than the fact that no one bothered to tell them they couldn't find it. The introduction to the music started and both Jim and Jack started grooving down to it. Jack decided that Jim had had enough screen time, so he would do the beginning of the song.

"And I would do anything for a plot..." Jack sang, as only a gay Jewish black dude could do, "I'll go into this office and back..."

"I would do anything for a plot..." Jim continued, "I'll never make it make sense and that's a fact..."

"But I'll never forget the lurch we've left you in right now," they sang together, "Oh no, no way..."

"And we'd do anything for a plot..." Jack sang, "But I won't make sense, I won't make sense..."

"Anything for a plot," Jim sang backup, "Oh I would do anything for a plot..."

"I would do anything for a plot!" Jack sang his heart out, "But I won't make sense, Oh I won't make sense!"

They both mimed the drum line as it picked up and decided that they were going to sing together for the next part. To prepare for it, they walked into the curator's office to begin their search.

"Some days we search the ceiling," they sang, "Some days we search on the floor..."

"Some days we search through it all," they continued, "And these are the days that never end..."

"Some nights you find your bearings," they sang badly, "Some nights you find it on the wall..."

"Some nights it is stupid like nothing I've ever read before," They kept going, "Or hopefully ever will again..."

Jim dropped down on to the floor and made some idiotic dance moves before Jack kicked him. Jack then moved to the forefront and picked up the microphone that miraculously appeared in the middle of the curator's office. He continued the singing.

"Maybe we're lazy," Jack sang, "But we're lazy and it's true..."

"You tell them, brother," Jim agreed.

"Nobody can save me," Jack continued singing as he smacked Jim, "No one else can save me, not even you..."

Jack turned around and did a pose. Jim smacked him and did one of his own. Jack ignored him and continued singing.

"As long as there are songs worth spoofing," Jack continued, "As long as there are books we're lampooning... As long as the word count is staying low you'd better get used to it..."

"That we would do anything for a plot," they sang together, "And there is no reason not to overact... We will do anything for a plot... And we'll take the bottle and drink it all down..."

Jack Wack then pushed Jim Stalin out of the spotlight and started singing on his own again. Jim decided to let Jack have his moment in the sun. Jack decided to make the most of it and drank a bit of bad French wine before continuing.

"But I'll never forgive myself if we don't make some plot points tonight," Jack sang badly, "And I would do anything for a plot, oh I would do anything for a plot... Yes, I would do anything for a plot... But I won't do that. No I won't do that..."

Jim got in position with a half dozen police officers to go into the chorus properly. They started dancing around in formation and managed to sing with only a hint of a bad French accent.

"I would do anything for a plot," the group sang, "Anything you can get bored of... But I won't do that..."

"I would do anything for a plot," the group sang, "Anything you can get bored of... But I won't do that..."

"I would do anything for a plot," the group sang, "Anything you can get bored of... But I won't do that..."

"Hooray for repetition," Jack chuckled, "Now let me sing again, please?"

"All yours," Jim agreed, "Now shake it like the gay Jewish black dude you are!"

"Shake it Jack," the author put in, "I'll take the next verses."

"Some days I pray for a story, some days I pray to close a plot hole" the author sang, "Some days I just pray to the gods of stories and songs and garbage and bad jokes..."

"Ain't that the truth," Jim agreed.

"Some nights I lose my sanity, some nights I gain plot holes," the author continued, ignoring Jim, "Some nights I just lose it all and break out into song..."

"Oh maybe I'm boring," Jim put in, "And that's all I'm qualified to be..."

"There's just one more hope in," Jack took over, "The only hope I can be freed to keep..."

"As long as the words are burning, as long as the count is improving," the three of them sang together, "As long as the end is coming nearer to you, you'd better believe it!"

"That I would do anything for a plot," the author put in, "And you know that it's true that I'm a hack... I would do anything for a plot and that this book is a piece of crap..."

"But you'll never do it better than you will for nanowrimo," Jack sang, "So long, so slow..."

"And that I'll do anything for a plot, oh I will do anything for a plot" the author continued, "I will do anything for a plot, but no, no I won't do that... No I won't do that..."

"No he won't do that..." Jim and Jack sang together, backing up the author as the fast music started.

"I would do anything for a plot," the group sang, "Anything you can get bored of... But I won't do that..."

"I would do anything for a plot," the group sang, "Anything you can get bored of... But I won't do that..."

"I would do anything for a plot," the group sang, "Anything you can get bored of... But I won't do that..."

"I would do anything for a plot," the group sang, "Anything you can get bored of... But I won't do that..."

"I would do anything for a plot," the group sang, "Anything you can get bored of... But I won't do that..."

"I would do anything for a plot," the group sang, "Anything you can get bored of... But I won't do that..."

"I would do anything for a plot," the group sang, "Anything you can get bored of... But I won't do that..."

"Enough already!" Jack yelled, "That's a damned cheap way to make up words..."

"But I'll never stop writing you every night of this month," the author sang, "No way..."

"And we would do anything for a plot," the three of them sang, "Oh we would do anything for a plot... We would do anything for a plot... but we won't do that, no we won't do that..."

"Will you raise the stakes, will you make it all known, will you get me out of this godforsaken Gremlin?" Jack sang, "Will you make the jokes a little less old?"

"I can't do that!" the author sang, "I can't do that!"

"Will you hold my sarcasm, will you make this sound right... Can you deodorize this plot and make it smell a bit less ripe?" Jim sang, "Can you make the nipples a little more cold?"

"I can't do that!" the author sang, "Uh, oh! I can't do that!"

"Will you make me a boyfriend with your own two hands? Can you build a perfect man with that keyboard in your hands?" Jack sang, "Can you give me a little knight I can ride home..."

"I can't do that!" the author sang, trying not to gag, "Uh, oh! I sure as hell can't do that!"

"Will you cater to every stupid whim I've got? Will you hose Reizvolle down with cold water cause she is so hot?" Jim sang, "Will you take me places that you'll never know?"

"I've already done that," the author sang, "Oh yes, I've already done that!"

"After a while this song gets annoying," Jack sang, "It was meant to find what we were looking for and we missed it to sing... Can't you see that it's time to move on?"

"I'll consider that," the author sang, "I will consider that..."

"I know the office, I've been around," Jim continued singing, "It'll turn out that we're all in the right place and it'll fall into my hands... And sooner or later... Oh here it is, what we've been looking for..."

"I'm glad you found that," the author sang, "So glad that you found that..."

"Anything for a plot, we would do anything for a plot," the three of them sang slowly, winding it down, "I would do anything for a plot, but I won't do that... no I won't do that..."

## Chapter XVI – Da Vinci's Orgy

"That was idiotic," Jim said, "But it was worth it. We have this."

"Yeah," Jack said, "But what is it?"

"I don't know," Jim shrugged, "But Inspector Bricon doesn't look happy that we found it."

"He wouldn't," Jack reminded him, "We could find the Holy Grail and he'd still be pissed off."

"Yes," Jim agreed, "But we have it and he doesn't. So I'd suggest we make for the Gremlin if we decide it's worth keeping."

"Good idea," Jack agreed, "Let's go."

"Stop them!" Inspector Bricon exclaimed, "They're thieves and murderers!"

"Now we'd better go," Jim said, "And fast!"

They dodged the groups of French cops as fast as they could and made their way back into the main museum. Bricon, despite his oversized belly and imbecilic looks, managed to keep in the lead. Jim and Jack made tracks through the museum, keeping a good bit of distance.

"This is completely lame," Jack yelled, "What's the next step?"

"This," Jim exclaimed, knocking over an expensive statue, "Need to repeat the bad gate hitting the foot joke one more time before we leave."

The gate came slamming down on Bricon's foot and they got into the Gremlin in the rain before anyone else could catch them. Jack drove it quickly until they managed to get far away from the museum. In other words, this bit had long passed the point of being stale so they needed to get away and begin doing something else.

They drove to a little place outside Paris where they could examine the object that had been stolen from the museum. They laid it out on the table and tried to figure out what it was.

"So what is this piece of garbage?" Jack wondered, "I mean we've got to have some point to it."

"Why?" Jim asked, "We haven't had a point yet in this damned book? We're starting to fall apart as it is."

"So ask the guy writing it," Jack suggested, "I mean he's the one who has brought us to this point. Maybe we can brainstorm some sort of goddamned plot. We're sure as hell stuck at this point. The last chapter proved that."

"No kidding," the author said, "I've completely run out of ideas for this story. Anyone care to help me figure out what to do with you next?"

"We're just the ones running around," Jim said, "Maybe you can figure out what the hell we're looking for?"

"How the hell should I know?" the author asked, "I pulled the Black Fossil out of my ass when I started this idiotic project. You two are nothing but a misguided attempt at writing a novel in thirty days. It is meaningless, just like this chapter is."

"You started a book without an outline?" Jim asked in mock surprise, "That's rich. You've not had an outline in anything you've ever done. Why should this be any different?"

"Lack of time," the author said, "Perhaps I should say to hell with it and let you two languish like I did Stacy Anoki."

"You like us too much," Jack said, "I mean where else are you going to deal with an idiot hero and a gay Jewish black dude?"

"True," Jim said, "Besides, this is a cathartic experience for you. You write this crap and by the time you're done with it you'll be ready to work on something good again."

"I've thought of that," the author agreed, "Besides, I'd rather let this be a complete and utter piece of crap than admit to myself that I can't do this."

"You're halfway there," Jack said, "It's already an utter piece of crap. I mean you already parodied Britney Spears and Meatloaf. Hell, you went back and did a parody of the Wizard of Oz. All you have to do is make fun of Michael Jackson and you'll have an Eminem video. The fact that we're talking to you now proves you're out of ideas."

"No kidding," the author agreed, "The fact that I'm spending time in my other window talking out a story I long ago abandoned means that I'd rather be doing almost anything else."

"So we need to make this fun again," Jim agreed, "We need to get off this spoof kick and actually do something. So let's figure out just what the heck Da Vinci's Orgy is going to get us."

"Nothing," the author said, "I was thinking of a grand spoof of the Da Vinci Code, but it went seriously awry."

"Putting it mildly," Jim said, admonishing the author, "So do we just ignore it?"

"Sure," Jack said, "I mean it doesn't make any less sense than the rest of this book. Since we're here talking about it we can just ignore it."

"So that object on the table is going to magically turn into the Da Vinci Mold," the author said, "See how it turned into a rather comical caricature of a penis? Well, that's the next sign. It's a mystical thing that is going to direct you to the next step."

"Where do we use it though?" Jack asked, "I mean you left out that part."

"It isn't nice to point out plot holes big enough to drive a truck through," Jim told his partner, "I'm sure he'll get to that eventually."

"Well," the author said, thinking about it a bit, "First you're driving this Gremlin out of Paris. I hate dealing with France and I swear if anyone else pisses in a soufflé I'm going to pull the plug on all of you!"

"Note to self," Jim said, "No soufflé pissing."

"Well," Jack said, "Let's go to somewhere exotic and find some reason to get there."

"That's an idea," Jim said, "But where can we go?"

"Away from here," the author said, "Take the Da Vinci Mold with you. You'll be going somewhere far away from here and you will know why you are there when you get there."

"Will we?" Jack asked, "How?"

"I don't know," the author admitted, "But it sounds good. I don't want to explain how you know what you know so I'm just sending you there and letting the audience assume that someone told you what was going on while you were flying."

"More airplanes?" Jim groaned, "Not again..."

"Relax," the author said, "I've done that already. I think you need to go to the mountains. You found the original artifact on an island so we're going to send you off to somewhere that you can deal with some snow and sun. Both at the same time."

"Where's that?" Jack asked, "I know of no such place."

"Sure you do," the author said, "The mythical mountain of sun and snow. You will be there when this chapter ends."

"Beats Paris," Jim agreed, "Can we end the chapter now?"

"Either that or we're going to have to answer to Inspector Bricon," Jack said, "How about it author type dude? Can we go now?"

"Sure," the author nodded, "Go to the Gremlin and drive as fast as you can. Since I'm in a spoofing mood still I'm going to have you go out like the time machine in Back to the Future. Cool with you?"

"So long as the Gremlin will take it," Jim said, "You're driving, Jack."

"It'll take it," the author said, "The Gremlin is too funny to destroy."

"I'm sure Admiral Sackenbrenner will love that," Jack chuckled, "Let's go... Back to the story!"

They took the Da Vinci mold with them and loaded their stuff into the Gremlin. The author watched with a bit of pride as the shifted it into gear and started driving it as fast as they could. Once it hit its top speed, which was something between slow and a crawl, they screeched down the street followed by flaming tire tracks. They then disappeared.

The author kicked back and laughed a little. Then he looked at the screen and realized he was still typing this crap when he should have ended the chapter. He then saw that you were looking at the porn appearing on the other monitor as motivational material.

"Hey!" the author yelled, "The chapter is over! Follow Jim and Jack you idiots!"

So you turn the page and move on to the next chapter like good little boys and girls, not sure what is coming next but knowing that it is going to suck as bad as the last parts did.

## Chapter XVII – Choking the Cherry

"Welcome to the great unidentified mountain," a very short generic looking dude said as Jack Wack drove the beat up Gremlin into town, "I'm sure you'll have a blast here."

"Knowing this book I'm sure we're due for a few," Jim agreed, "It's cold in this damned Gremlin. Where is the hotel?"

"Down at the end of the road," Jack said, pointing, "Looks like a big ominous place."

"Of course it is," Jim agreed, "Why would it be anything but?"

"So this is the new direction we're going," Jack sighed, "Do we know anything more than we did?"

"Sure," Jim nodded, "While we were being magically transported here while the author was busy berating himself at the end of the last chapter we learned a lot."

"Such as?" Jack wondered, not remembering anything, "I mean last I remember I was in France. Now we're here. Where ever the hell we are, I don't remember learning anything on the way."

"I just told Jim," the author told him, "Now shut up and let that idiot recap it so the readers will know it too. Jeeze. You'd think you'd never seen a lame cover up of a rapid location switch before."

"Fine, fine," Jack nodded, "So what did you learn, Jim?"

"Da Vinci's Orgy was nothing but a ruse," Jim told him, "A red herring that simply allowed us to spoof the Da Vinci code a bit before we move on to the meat and potatoes of the story."

"What story?" Jack wondered, "I mean we still don't have a plot."

"Shhh," Jim said, "Don't call attention to that fact."

"Like we did with 'I Would Do Anything for A Plot'?" Jack reminded him, "It's quite obvious that this thing is a running sketch comedy."

"That's beside the point," Jim continued, "Do you want to hear this or not?"

"Not really," Jack sighed, "But tell me anyway."

"Ok," Jim said, "The Da Vinci stuff was garbage, because they never had the Black Fossil at all. They used an old legend that had been brought back by Columbus era explorers, one that had never been substantiated. Thing is, the legend has persisted because of its significance to cultures in South America."

"Makes a little sense," Jack nodded, "Very little, but go ahead."

"So we need to head to South America," Jim said, "Our trip there starts here. There's a number of legends pointing the last location of the Black Fossil to this area. I bet they're all bull, but we need to at least try."

"It also gives us a good excuse to do a snow chase as well as a cozy hotel for the obligatory sex scene," Jack agreed, "Ok. That buys us a few words. It may not make much sense, but then the rest of this book doesn't make any more sense."

"So you think we should go check in?" Jim asked him.

"I've heard worse ideas," Jack shrugged, "Most of them from you."

Jack drove the Gremlin through the idyllic South American resort town. Neither one of them knew if any resorts like this actually existed, but it made just enough sense for it to be there enough for Jack to park the dilapidated Gremlin outside. They grabbed the luggage that somehow had followed them all the way from France and made their way to the inside of the hotel.

"Let's see if they actually like Americans here," Jim said, "I'm sick of getting my soufflé pissed on."

"I thought we left that joke in Paris?" Jack asked him, fighting off a groan, "Did you really have to resurrect it?"

"Sure," Jim nodded, "Anything for a cheap laugh."

Jack shook his head as they walked inside. The Hotel was actually really nice, though it was old and slightly on the creepy side. They wrote this off to a subconscious need to do a little spoofing of The Shining while they managed to skewer everything else they could remotely think of. It is all in the word counts, you know.

"Americanos?" the clerk said, "You must be the bozos we were wired about?"

"Bozos?" Jim said, "I don't like the sound of that."

"I don't know," Jack shrugged, "That sounds like just the thing Admiral Sackenbrenner would introduce us as. You know damn well he had to have wired the descriptions and the payment for the room."

"Admiral Sackenbrenner?" the clerk said, "Oh, I'm sorry. I have you mixed up with the other suite. You must be Jim Stalin and Jack Wack."

"That's us," Jim said, "What other suite?"

"That would be Mr. Dirtpassion's suite, sir," the clerk said, "He didn't tip so well, so I don't mind breaking the confidentiality despite the fact that I just met you."

"Tip him well, Jack," Jim told him, "Maybe he won't tell Adam and Reizvolle we're here."

"Confidentiality is my friend," the clerk assured them, "Just like Andrew Jackson and Benjamin Franklin."

Jack paid the clerk and took their keys. Jack may have been the gay Jewish black dude, but he was still the sidekick and he was supposed to do the mundane crap like pay the bills and the like. Jack accepted it, mainly because it meant that Jim was usually being shot at and not him.

They got to their rooms, a joint suite that was on the middle floor overlooking the pool. Jack did not like that fact because he knew that someone would be falling into the pool before this idiotic chapter ended. Jack was again hoping that it would be Jim and not him.

"So what do we do now?" Jack asked him, "Do we come up with a plan of action or do we do some of the obligatory scenes now?"

"I think we need to find more out about the enemy," Jim said, "And since you're a gay Jewish black dude and I'm the tall hetero white guy I think that means I'm elected."

"What is your wife going to say about that?" Jack asked him, "At least I'm unattached."

"I don't know what Claudia is going to say about it," Jim shrugged, "Not like I've seen her in years anyway."

"I thought her name was Caroline," Jack said.

"Whatever," Jim shrugged, "Besides, this is business. I'm going to try to find out why Reizvolle and Adam are trying to get this thing."

"What makes you think they know?" Jack wondered, "I mean they're just as trapped by this idiotic story as we are. Perhaps more trapped, because the author isn't talking to them."

"Because I'll be there," Jim reminded his friend, "Maybe the author will think of something as he makes fun of the way us heroes get to do, or almost do, the bad women."

"I think he just wants an excuse to look at more porn," Jack said bitterly as he looked at the author's second monitor.

"That's research, thank you," the author said, "Now stay on task you two."

"See," Jim grinned, "Now I gotta go down and meet Reizvolle in the bar."

"What makes you think she'll be there and alone?" Jack asked him, almost guessing the answer.

"Because I'm going down there and it will be awkward to work the scene if Adam is there," Jim reminded Jack, "If you have faith in anything else have faith in the fact that the author has no intention of making this any more difficult on himself than he absolutely has to."

"Good point," Jack nodded, "But where does that leave me?"

"In the character bag of holding," Jim said as he watched Jack disappear, "You'll be back when you're needed for more comic relief or to save me from Reizvolle or something stupid like that."

With that, Jim put the character bag of holding in his pocket, left the room and the author ended the chapter. As for the title of this chapter, it came because the author was listening to that song of the time. No cherries have been injured in the production of this novel, we assure you. Applications for cherry abuse, however, can be deposited at your local office of... Oh... Sorry hon, didn't see you there. (psst... Those applications can be sent... Ack! I didn't! No! Ok... I'll move on to the next chapter... Jeeze...)

## Chapter XVIII – The Obligatory Sex Scene

Jim Stalin walked into the hotel bar, looking around for someone he knew would be there. Reizvolle Dirne was sitting in a booth nursing an oversized glass of some really foul looking alcohol. She looked up, a seriously bored expression on her face. Jim pulled out a chair and sat down next to her.

"About time you showed up," Reizvolle cooed, "I've been sitting here for at least an eternity."

"I had some stuff to clean up," Jim shrugged, "Movies to watch, games to play."

"Translation," Reizvolle said sexily, "The author is bored and didn't want to write."

"Sounds about right," Jim nodded, "So he figured it would be time to get this over with. The obligatory sex scene is something that should be easy to write, as it doesn't have to make a whole lot of sense."

"Yes," Reizvolle nodded, her eyes oozing sensuality that would be paying off eventually, "Considering I won't even consider the man I've broken several dozen laws with, yet I'm sitting here having a drink and thinking about laying you out on to the floor and doing things that would get us arrested in thirty-seven states."

"Sounds entertaining," Jim said, "But that isn't going to help the word count."

"It might," Reizvolle said brightly, "But not in a way that's going to keep this book in a PG-13 mode like they're trying to go for."

"True," Jim nodded, "So where does that leave us?"

"Talking for a while," Reizvolle smiled, "Maybe doing some other things..."

"Right," Jim agreed, "Where is your murderous friend?"

"Near here," Reizvolle said, "Planning on what to do next."

"As am I," Jim agreed, "So I guess your room is free."

"Maybe not free," she shrugged, "But reasonable."

"Let's go upstairs," Jim suggested, "This bar is deadsville. We've got more important things to do."

"Yes," Reizvolle admitted, "We have to fumble around and swap some DNA."

They walked together up to the second floor room that Reizvolle had picked out. It was close enough to be an easy walk and far enough from all the other occupied rooms to keep the noise from annoying the neighbors. Reizvolle opened the door and showed the ultimate love pad.

"Nice," Jim said, eyeing the place and the blonde woman, "I guess this is what they call post modern sexual prowess place thingy?"

"I guess you could call it that," Reizvolle nodded, nibbling on Jim a little, "So enjoy this a bit while the author tries to describe this travesty we are calling a room."

The room was a massive spectacle of bad taste. Every bit of bad clutter you could think of from every bachelor pad in the last forty years and you would find that this room was even worse in its décor. From the lava lamps to velvet paintings to the awful black lights to mirrors all over the place this room did little but scream bad taste.

"Why did you choose this room?" Jim asked her, "It's rather suggestive."

"I didn't," Reizvolle said, trailing her finger down his lips, "The author chose it for me."

"It fits you," Jim said, doing something unprintable to her clothes, "I think I have something that will fit you as well..."

"Yes," Reizvolle agreed, "But there is some things we need to take care of first."

As Jim continued to do unprintable things they moved together to the ultra-cool seventies vintage record player, which Reizvolle started with some very bland make out music that served to complement the absurdity of this whole situation.

"Mmm," Jim agreed, "I can think of a few things..."

"No," Reizvolle said, stopping him with a very sexy hand, "That will come soon, but we must satisfy the thin requirements that this plot needs."

"Ah yes," Jim nodded, pulling some clothing off the hot blonde villainous type woman, "The obligatory plot related pillow talk that will take our minds off the boinking to come just long enough to reveal some much needed plot pieces."

"Exactly," Reizvolle nodded, removing some of Jim's clothing and throwing it over a Naugahyde chair in the corner, "So what do you want to know?"

"Exactly how nice those censored look uncovered," Jim said, pulling at more clothing, "Then I'm going to censored and censored until you scream 'Oh my censored censored censored censored!'"

"All in good time," Reizvolle said, "The sooner you actually ask about the censored plot you will get to censored me in every place you censored desire and twice in the censored."

"Mmmm," Jim nodded, "Very well. I understand why that flaccid censored you are teamed up with wants the Black Fossil. He's probably hoping that it will fix his limp censored long enough to get it on with you. Why do you need it?"

"Power," Reizvolle smiled evilly, "Between my natural assets and the black fossil, no one will be able to stop me."

"Except me," Jim said, nibbling some more on her censored some more, "You know that, right?"

"Of course my dear," Reizvolle nodded, enjoying the attention, "This isn't a bad way to spend an evening either."

"Alexandra is probably censored. I never got a chance to censored her," Jim said, "Such a tragedy."

"What would your wife say?" Reizvolle said, "Hmm, Mr. Stalin?"

"Elena is half a world away," Jim shrugged, "I'm doing this for god, country and the libido of every man who is reading this god awful piece of censored."

"I thought her name was Eliza," Reizvolle groaned as Jim worked on her.

"Who cares?" Jim shrugged, "Now that we have motives worked out, do we get to censored now?"

"I think we're getting closer," Reizvolle told him, "Bite me on the censored hard! Right there! Right Now!"

This chapter has drawn on long enough. Let us suffice to say that Jim and Reizvolle spent the better part of the night censored each other in plenty of censored ways that would be illegal in thirty-four states and in the District of Columbia. Moreover, Reizvolle had one of the best epiphanies that she had ever had in the middle of censored. Jim, of course, finished in three minutes and rolled over to fall asleep right after they censored.

## Chapter XIX – Adam's Revenge

Adam Dirtpassion knew what was going on. He had to, it says right here that he did. He grabbed a few mooks from the bar, all of whom were happy to fulfill their destinies by signing on to Adam's crew for a few notes of fake local currency. None of them expected to live through the night, but that was ok. Dying quickly beat spending anymore time in this censored book.

"Let's go," Adam growled, getting his weapon ready, "Acme hasn't let me down yet. Let's get my girl out of there."

They marched up the stairs and found the room that Reizvolle had rented. Adam, being the impatient son of a censored that he was, kicked the door in and found Jim Stalin in bed with the lovely blonde vision that was Reizvolle Dirne. She looked up at him with a defiant smile on her face.

"I'm glad that's over," Jim said, looking at Adam, "I was sick of pretending I enjoyed this."

"You realize that I'm going to have to try to kill you now," Adam Dirtpassion said, "I will deal with Reizvolle later."

"I'm familiar with the way this goes," Jim nodded, "Reizvolle is about to sell me out and I'm about to either be injured and left for dead or I'm going to go for one hell of a chase scene."

"I think I'm going to shoot you now," Adam said, "I'm sure the author will thank me for it."

"You're welcome to try," Reizvolle said, "But seeing as we're still talking and not lying abandoned in the slush pile somewhere I think we're being set up to fail."

"Curses," Adam said, "Where do you get your logic?"

"Certainly not from reading this book," Jim muttered, "So what do you intend to do with me after you shoot me?"

"I'll leave you here to rot," Adam said, "Since we're doing the mistaken hypothesis that I'm actually going to succeed in mortally wounding you."

"More likely you're just going to nick him a bit," Reizvolle agreed, "Maybe give him a nice sexy scar on his cheek."

"You still want to do him again!" Adam exclaimed, "Don't you!"

"He wasn't bad," Reizvolle said with a knowing smile, "I've had worse."

"You haven't had me yet," Adam said, "Who else had you?"

"Wouldn't you like to know" she cooed.

"So long as I'm in good company," Jim grinned, "So what are you waiting for, Adam. Going to pop your top and shoot me or what?"

"Shut up!" Adam yelled, smacking him with the butt of the fun, "You will burn for this."

"I'm quite sure we all will," Jim agreed, "But not before I escape and start another long and drawn out chase scene, this one involving several forms of snow transportation."

"Sounds like fun," Reizvolle agreed, "But we can't let you get that far. You know too much."

"How?" Adam asked her, "Did you tell him anything?"

"Of course I did!" Reizvolle exclaimed, "Why else do you think I slept with him?"

"She told me everything," Jim grinned, seeing an opening, "And showed me a whole lot more..."

"Watch what you say about her!" Adam yelled, inexplicably trying to defend Reizvolle's nonexistent honor, "I will kill you!"

"You keep saying that," Jim yawned, "I'm frankly getting bored of hearing you say it."

"That's it!" Adam yelled, "You die!"

Of course, when Adam fired the gun it missed badly, the bullet sending some fluff in the air as it hit the mook to his left. The mook died quickly and quietly, surprising for a mook in this book. The other mooks knew that it was a waste of a mook, but did not want to say anything. Their deaths would come this night as well.

"Damn acme guns!" Adam yelled, "I'm going to rip you limb for limb!"

"And now for something completely different," Reizvolle muttered, blatantly ripping off Monty Python just like the rest of this book does.

Jim got up and surprisingly was wearing a rather tasteful set of boxers in keeping with the PG-13 rating that this idiotic book is for some reason trying to carry. Yes folks, we are not trying to shock ourselves into an R, we are trying to keep this idiocy accessible for the children. Why? Because we hate them, that is why. Anyway, back to the story. Jim Stalin jumped over a mook and grabbed his pants.

"Get him!" Adam yelled, "I want that son of a mailman's pant leg dead!"

"Mailman's pants leg?" Reizvolle asked.

"Don't ask," Jim said, putting on his pants, "You're better off not knowing."

Three mooks went for Jim as he continued putting on his pants. It was really a comical sight to see Jim Stalin fight off three idiotic mooks with one arm as he zipped up and buttoned his pants. Adam, who paid good fake currency for those mooks, was not as amused as Reizvolle was.

"Get some clothes on you slut," Adam growled, "I'm going in there..."

"That's what I said to her a few minutes ago," Jim grinned as he threw a mook out the window, "Sorry about that!"

"Don't just stand there!" Adam said to the remaining mooks, "You outnumber him!"

The mooks tried to go in, but being the mooks they were Jim managed to kill them in very graphic ways that it would be rather disgusting to describe, but they took a dental tool, three prophylactics and eleven garbage bags to clean up the mess afterwards.

"And now..." Adam said, moving towards them.

"And now I've got to go," Jim said, bowing, "Give Patrick Bateman my regards, Adam. It's been fun, Reizvolle. We must spend a few minutes together again sometime."

"Goodbye," Reizvolle giggled as she watched Jim leave.

"Get dressed," Adam growled, "Come on, Mooks! We have a chase to conduct!"

Jim ran up to his own room and got dressed again in record time. He knew he did not have much time so he pulled out the character bag of holding and reconstituted Jack Wack out of the nothingness that enveloped him in that odd time frame.

"Did you censored her yet?" Jack asked him.

"A while ago," Jim nodded, "Adam is here and he's annoyed that I got in her pants before he did."

"Figures," Jack sighed, "Why couldn't you have brought me back after you got away from the crazy people?"

"Because you can drive," Jim grinned, "And you give me someone to banter with, thereby increasing the word count higher. These chases would be dead dull if I didn't have you here to crack jokes with."

"Fine," Jack sighed, "So I guess we should get out of here before they come in?"

At this point they heard a cracking on the door. They looked at each other and wondered just what the heck Adam Dirtpassion was up to out there. It took a few more whacks before the head of the axe came through and Adam stuck his head in.

"Heeeeeere's Adam!" Adam yelled, "Scared yet?"

"No," Jim said, "Not really."

"Hmmm," Adam said, "Ok, be right back..."

Adam darted down the hall, leaving Jim and Jack to look at each other again wondering just what he was going to do this time. Adam finally ran back down the hallway and stuck his head back through. This time he was wearing a black wig and a really bad fake plastic nose.

"Heeeeeere's Jacko!" Adam yelled, "I'm going to treat you like a five year old at Neverland Ranch!"

Both Jim and Jack started screaming and ran towards the window. It was a breathtaking sight to see them fly out of this window in a puff of broken glass and dramatic music. The far away people saw a beautifully done jump that looked like it hit the pool. Unfortunately for the two stunt mooks doing the jump they missed by about ten feet and left a nice large crater.

"Man," Jim said, looking in the crater, "That was close."

"Glad we're too important to crater out," Jack nodded, "At least not for another 16,653 words."

"True that," Jim nodded, "I think Adam looks a bit annoyed. I guess we should get out of here."

"Probably a prudent move," Jack agreed, "But how? The hotel is between us and the only car we have keys for."

"There's a mountain full of perfectly good snow behind us," Jim said, "We'll be sure to find several modes of transportation so we can have one damned cool snow chase."

"Let's rock," Jack nodded, "I think I see the first piece of chase fodder over there. That snowmobile has its keys in it if I don't miss my guess."

"It sure does," Jim agreed, "You drive!"

## Chapter XX – The Completely Unnecessary Snow Chase

Jack started the snowmobile and it roared into life. Jim jumped on behind him, holding on for dear life as the machine started it's insane roar to life. They went into the deeper snow behind the hotel as Adam Dirtpassion's mooks came out running. Where Adam got thirty mooks in five minutes is a subject best left for academics and plot hole watchers.

"Get them!" Adam yelled, "I want them dead!"

"Why don't you get realistic, Adam dear?" Reizvolle said, acting bored, "Why don't you just order them off the side of the mountain in pairs of two."

"Because that doesn't eat enough words," Adam told her, "I know we won't succeed, you know we won't succeed. But can you kindly refrain from reminding the reader that we are becoming somewhat predictable, hmm? This story is tedious enough without that."

"True," Reizvolle agreed, "Very well Adam, go on and get them. Their heads will make a good trophy on your mantle."

"Nice talk from someone who just did one of them," Adam sighed, "Why do I want you so much again?"

"Because I'm hot," Reizvolle grinned, "I talk with a really sexy accent and I'm the only living female in this book."

"That would do it," Adam agreed, "Ok, I'm off to try to kill the hero."

"Good luck," Reizvolle nodded, "You'll need it."

Adam hopped on to a specially made snowmobile that just amazingly appeared out of nowhere to be in the right place for a chase. It was remarkably bright for this time of day, though it would have to be for this type of chase to be as visually stunning as you would need it to be.

Jim and Jack were zipping down the trails on their snowmobile until they realized that the mooks had lost them. Cursing a bit, Jack stopped the snowmobile and looked at the trail behind them. Jim looked at Jack as if he was crazy, despite the fact that this was a foregone conclusion for both of them.

"Why are you stopping?" Jim asked him, "We got away!"

"It was too easy," Jack said sourly, "This chapter ends too quickly and they'll find something less entertaining to do with us if we don't let them catch up. Personally, this is more enjoyable than waiting for you to spend three minutes with Reizvolle."

"Three and a half minutes," Jim said indignantly, "The best three and a half minutes of her life."

"Right," Jack said, shaking his head, "I think I'll take a completely unnecessary chase over that."

"I do have one question," Jim said, silently agreeing and waiting for the mooks, "Why are they chasing us all the time? Why aren't we chasing them once in a while?"

"Because we're more interesting when we're running," Jack told him, "Not to mention if we were chasing them it would mean they had something we wanted. Right now we're the only ones with the clue where the Black Fossil is."

"What clue?" Jim wondered, "Oh yeah, the clue that I got before we came here!"

"The only clue you've had in your life," Jack reminded him, "Enough of this inane banter. Despite the fact that I'm wondering why a gay Jewish black dude would be hooking up with you, I hear the mooks coming. Adam probably isn't far behind."

"Let's do some damage," Jim agreed, "You're driving!"

Jack started the motor just as a Mook hit a snow bank behind them and sent himself careening over their heads in an artistic, yet pointless, show of stunt work. Jim held on tightly as the snowmobile lurched forward with the speed of an underpowered engine and a gay Jewish black dude behind the wheel.

The mooks followed them quickly, trying to catch up to the underpowered snowmobile that was flying faster than it had any right to in the snow. They realized that this needed to become a bit more varied, so the mooks started weaving around and making artistic manners.

"This is nice," Jim yelled, "I think I know what we need to do to get rid of this first batch of mooks!"

"What's that?" Jack wondered, "I thought running meant we needed to keep ahead of them."

"We do," Jim said, "But we need to do it in the most boring way possible. The duller this chase becomes the more stupid things they do. What do you want to bet that if we just crouch down and drive a mile the mooks will kill themselves by doing idiotic stunts instead of taking the opportunity to kill us."

"Sounds like you've got an idea," Jack agreed, "It's your back that is open to them, not mine. Let's give it a shot."

"I'm saving my bullets," Jim reminded him, "Just give it a try, shall we?"

Jack thought about hitting Jim and kicking him off the speeding snowmobile, but being the hero as he was meant that Jim was likely to survive and something nasty would happen to Jack once Jim hit the ground. He stayed low on the snowmobile and started driving straight and slow.

The tactic worked, however, because as the chase got more mind-numbingly dull the mooks started doing more and more idiotic stunts in an attempt to make the chase more interesting. Of course, these stunts got more and more dangerous until the mooks managed to collide into each other and set the cheap and unsafe snowmobiles into a really impressive looking explosion that killed four of them and left a wreck that two more hit and flew over a ledge that had not been there previously.

"That had to leave a mark," Jim said, "See... It worked."

"That's nice for you," Jack said, "But we've still got a long ways to go. There are, at best estimates, some thirty mooks, along with Adam and the messed up woman you spent the worst three minutes of her life with."

"It's three and a half, I tell you!" Jim said indignantly, "But that's not important. The important part is that we're heading straight for that cliff."

"What cliff?" Jack wondered and then let his eyes go wide as he looked in front of him, "Oh! That cliff!"

Jack managed to pull the snowmobile to a stop a bare three inches from the edge of the cliff. They both got off the snowmobile and stood up. They patted each other's backs, knocking the snow off of their clothing and revealing just how long they'd been traveling.

"Do you have any idea where we are?" Jim asked him, "Or where the rest of the mooks are?"

"No on both counts," Jack admitted, "Though I hear the mooks coming."

"Then we'd better get this damned thing back from that ledge," Jim said, "Grab one end, I'll get the other."

"Uh," Jack said, looking at what Jim was doing, "That's not good. Let's pull from the other end..."

Jim didn't hear him in time and the slight pull dislodged enough snow to tip the precarious portion of snow over the edge. The snowmobile tumbled down the ledge falling down several hundred feet and crashing the rest of the way on the rocks, exploding in a way that would make the national transportation safety bureau cringe.

"Great," Jack yelled, "What the hell did you do that for?"

"I didn't mean to!" Jim exclaimed, looking down over the ledge, "It did look cool though."

The mooks were making tracks, looking for their missing friends and the heroes. All they had to do was follow the smell of burning snowmobiles to get to where they needed to be. Jim and Jack were still looking at the edge when they heard the snowmobiles approach.

"So what do we do now?" Jack asked his friend, "Do we deal with it or do we continue to hope that we don't get killed."

"I say let's watch the rest of that explosion," Jim said, "The author will figure out something to do if necessary. He may have something in mind that we haven't thought of."

"Not difficult in your case," Jack agreed, "What the hell?"

"What?" Jim asked, "Man, look at the smoke coming from that ridiculous thing... Someone is gonna be annoyed we killed their snowmobile..."

Jack watched as a lift came over the edge of the hill, empty in this case except for a young kid sitting on one side and watching the whole thing from his seat. Jim did not notice in time, so it came up behind his head and smacked him flat in the back and in the head. Jack got out of the way in time, but was losing his balance so he had to grab the rising lift to keep from falling over the edge.

Jim fell face first into the snow and quickly managed to get up. He saw Jack hanging on and realized the mooks were just behind them. He got a running start and did a nice impossible jump that took him out over the void and let him grab the railing right next to Jack Wack.

"You are an idiot, you know that?" Jack asked him, "What if you had fallen?"

"I'm the hero and the story isn't over yet," Jim reminded him, "I had good odds."

The mooks fired a few shots, but of course were unable to hit the men. They got on their snowmobiles and headed towards the station at the bottom so they could get back up to the top where Jim and Jack were heading. Adam followed along as well, angry that they had gotten away, even temporarily.

"Get up that mountain!" Adam yelled, "I want those pains in the rear dead!"

Jim and Jack managed to hold on for the whole ride up there. It was cold, their arms hurt, but they managed to make it to the top. The child kicking their fingers did not make it any easier either, but when they did fall they only fell about twenty feet into a bank of soft snow. Jack sat up and looked harshly at his longtime friend.

"Why do I go on these trips with you?" Jack wondered aloud, "I swear, you get laid, I get the character bag of holding. We damn near get killed and then we move on to do it all over again. I don't get it. Why don't I go home?"

"Because you have too much fun," Jim grinned, "Relax buddy, it's an adventure. If you weren't here with me getting shot at you would be sitting in an idiotic cubicle somewhere in that awful building. Either that or you would be getting drunk with Admiral Sackenbrenner in a futile attempt at getting yourself a promotion."

"Why futile?" Jack asked, "I usually manage to get the job done."

"You work for a non-descript government agency with no past, no present and no future," Jim reminded him, "You can't go up because there's nowhere to go. Once this book is over it won't matter a whit."

"You're the most profound imbecile I've ever met you know that?" Jack said, "But you've got a point for the first time in this idiotic story. So what is next?"

"We brush ourselves off," Jim grinned, "Then we go up and get ready for the next part of this idiotic chase."

"Just so long as one of us has a plan," Jack agreed, "Let's go do it."

They made their way up the last bit of hill just as the last of the mooks got out of the elevator. One of the mooks shot a few worthless bullets at Jim Stalin, but they did little but hit a citizen on the slope, sending the body flying backwards tumbling down the mountain. This, in addition to being real artistic, also allowed the crowd to go into complete hysterics and add to the comical background of this section of the book

"Very nice," Jim nodded, "Artistic and all."

"Will you run before they shoot me, damn it?" Jack yelled, "Get moving, Jim!"

They ran to the ski shop at the top of the mountain. Since everyone was trying to get away from the trigger happy mooks there was little competition to get into the small shack where the only skis on the mountain could be bought. Very useful for people who managed to break their skis on the way up the mountain.

"Greetings," the clerk said, dodging a bullet cheerfully, "Welcome to the top of the mountain ski shop. It would be my pleasure to sell you a crackerjack set of skis today."

"Ma'am," Jim said, "You are aware people are getting shot out there?"

"Yes sir," the clerk nodded, keeping the smile on her face, "Awful for my business, so hopefully you'll do me a favor and buy a good set today, huh?"

"You are just as psychotic as Adam," Jack said, "Give me a set of your moderately priced skis."

"But you really must look at the better skis," the clerk said, "I do have a commission to think of, you know. They are quite nice as well."

"Lady," Jim said, "Those idiots shooting out there? They're shooting at me, all right? They want to kill us. We intend to use these skis to get away from them. Now will you get off your admittedly cute little ass and get me a pair of skis."

"But sir," the clerk said, still almost chirping, "If you're going to be skiing away from people you must look at these top of the line skis!"

"Very well," Jim said, "Let's look at the ones near the door there."

"Good choice, sir!" the clerk exclaimed, "Let me go and get them for you!"

Jim and Jack watched as the young woman went over to the doorway to pull down the skis. She did it slowly and deliberately, letting Jim and Jack get a good view of her as well as the skis. Unfortunately, the mooks were still shooting and one of the shots managed to hit the clerk right in the back of her pretty little head."

"What incredible irony," Jack said smoothly, "Now let's get these skis and get out of here."

"Nice to know that the mooks can hit something when you need them too," Jim agreed, "Let's get the next piece of this damned chase over with. Then maybe we can have another song and dance number."

"You actually like those?" Jack asked, strapping on his boots, "And I thought I was the gay man here."

"The more time we sing," Jim reminded him as he stepped into the skis, "The less we actually have to pretend to have a plot."

"Good point," Jack agreed, "But we still have to do the chase."

"Let's go," Jim said, "Much longer here and we'll get shot."

They left the store and headed out into the snow. Adam was now getting off the lift, having taken the time to get himself decked out in proper skiing attire before he even went up the mountain. It was a good thing, as the shop at the top of the mountain was temporarily closed to allow time for the idiot sales clerk to be replaced.

"Get him!" Adam yelled, "Both of them!"

"Which ones?" a mook yelled.

Adam shot the mook and turned to another one. This mook was a smidgen smarter and did not replicate the mistake that got the previous mook dead. He turned around and looked at his boss and nodded.

"The hero dolt and his gay jewish black dude friend," the mook said, "We're on it."

And so the chase started again. This time it was on skis and they headed down the wrong slope. Just to make it interesting Jim and Jack, who had not skied in many years, went down the expert slope. The fact that they had no clue what they were doing made no difference whatsoever. They kept going down the hill, looking back to see which of the mooks would crash first.

"Get them!" Adam yelled, quickly becoming monotonous, "I their asses on a platter!"

"Funny!" Jim yelled, "That's what Reizvolle said to me last night!"

"That's just cold you know that?" Jack said as they skied, "You know that he doesn't have a shot with a blonde that hot. It's your job."

"Just be glad they made you gay," Jim grinned, "Otherwise you'd be lusting after her too."

"Right," Jack nodded, "And it's just too cool having a gay Jewish black dude around."

"Exactly," Jim nodded, "So keep your eyes ahead, you're about to hit a tree."

Jack missed the tree by mere inches, thereby avoiding becoming the next Sonny Bono. Adam himself started shooting a bit, hoping to derail them somehow or at least make them sloppy. This, however, stopped him from noticing the tree branch in front of him. It really did look like that hit was a bit painful, seeing as it knocked him over and probably broke a few ribs.

"Are you all right sir?" one of the mooks asked his boss as he helped him up, "That looked like it hurt."

"Fark off!" Adam yelled, shooting the mook, "Get moving! Chase them!"

"He is getting rather monotonous with that," Jim said, "So are we. We need to do something interesting."

"Ski backwards?" Jack asked him.

"Been done," Jim said, "Many times."

"How about we fly off a cliff and use a parachute," Jack suggested, "That could be cool."

"James Bond did it," Jim reminded him, "Even had the parachute with the union jack on it."

"That's right," Jack said, skiing while crouching and thinking, "It's all been done before, hasn't it?"

"Mostly," Jim agreed, "Between On Her Majesty's Secret Service, The Spy Who Loved Me, For Your Eyes Only and A View To A Kill they pretty well covered every variation of everything you can do on skis."

"But we're a spoof," Jack said, "Surely we can mock them somehow?"

"Heh," Jim said, "Like they didn't mock themselves until they dumped Roger Moore."

"Um, guys," the author told them, "While you're doing a nice job at showing off a few of my views about how stupid some of the Bond movies got you're not doing a very good job of finishing this idiotic chase."

"Then make something interesting happen," Jack told him, "You're the one writing this stupid thing."

"There are three mooks left," the author said, "Have at them."

The mooks came out of nowhere and started punching at Jim and Jack. Having a fight on skis moving down a mountain is a tenuous thing at best. Jack probably had the best move of them all, doing a back flip off a small, well-placed ramp and breaking the back of one of the mooks, along with one of his skis.

Jim applauded the move as he ducked a mook's punch. He then skied backwards, ducked down and punched the mook in the balls. The mook screamed, stood straight up and promptly skied into a branch that broke his neck. This did such a good job of stopping that mook and surprising the one behind him that the last mook skied right into the body, freaking him out and getting him out of the chase.

"Rotten useless mooks!" Adam Dirtpassion yelled, "You're a dead man now, Stalin!"

"So you say," Jim yawned as they skied down the mountain, "Do something about it."

"And quickly," Jack said, "I can't ski for long on a single ski!"

Adam Dirtpassion managed to gain a bit of speed as he tried to attack Jim Stalin. Of course, this scene had readily run its course so it made sense to the author to end it here by having the bad guy miss Jim completely and accidentally ski off the edge of the mountain. Of course there was no ledge there a minute ago, but this did not matter. It was convenient.

"Oh dear," Jim Stalin said as he watched Adam Dirtpassion fall, "I dare say we're going to need a new villain."

"Nahh," Jack Wack said, also watching, "Look at that. Gravity is bending for him. He'll be battered, bruised and more than a little pissed, but he should be able to show up to piss us off again."

"So what now?" Jim wondered, "This chapter is pretty well done isn't it?"

"I guess we go back and try to find out more," Jack shrugged, "Unless you want to have a completely pointless musical number?"

"I can live with that," Jim agreed, "Let's have a completely pointless musical number.

And so they went, skiing off into the sunset as the music slowly began for the completely unnecessary musical number. Hey, wait a minute, I haven't finished this chapter yet! Do not start that music yet! Let me figure out what they are going to be singing first you bastards! Nooooooooo!

## Chapter XXI – The Completely Pointless Musical Number

Jim Stalin and Jack Wack made it to the bottom of the mountain in record time, just as the music that had accidentally started at the end of the previous chapter started going. Jack thought it entirely appropriate that a derivative spoof of a derivative white character get to do a song that is a spoof of a derivative white rapper. Jim shrugged and began to move to the music of Eminem's "My Name Is" as he tried to figure out how to rap in ten seconds or less.

"Hi!" Jim said, trying to imitate Eminem, "My name is..."

"What?" Jack said, playing along.

"My name is..." Jim continued.

"Who?" Jack sighed.

"My name is..." Jim finished after a scratch, "Jim Stalin!"

"Hi!" Jim said, continuing to imitate Eminem, "My name is..."

"Huh?" Jack said, trying not to sound bored.

"My name is..." Jim said again.

"What?" Jack sighed.

"My name is..." Jim finished doing another scratch, "Jim Stalin!"

"Hi!" Jim said, trying to imitate Eminem, "My name is..."

"What?" Jack said, playing along.

"My name is..." Jim continued.

"Who?" Jack sighed.

"My name is..." Jim finished after a scratch, "Jim Stalin!"

"Hi!" Jim said, continuing to imitate Eminem, "My name is..."

"Huh?" Jack said, trying not to sound bored.

"My name is..." Jim said again.

"What?" Jack sighed.

My name is..." Jim finished doing another scratch, "Jim Stalin!"

Jim did a stupid little dance and changed about six outfits in a span of 20 seconds. Really amazing the modern technology of writing. He finally came back and looked like a really demented school teacher.

"Um, excuse me?" Jim said, looking very nerdy as he did so, "Can I have the suspension of disbelief extended for one minute?"

"Get on with it you idiot," Jack grumbled.

"Hi readers!" Jim rapped, "Do you like cruelty?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Jack added and then said under his breath, "I'm sure they do if they've read this far..."

"Want to see me stretch this plot like Joan Rivers' eyelids?" Jim continued, pausing for the 'uh huh!', "Want to copy movies and get MPAA to go ballistic?"

"Uh, no," Jack said.

"How about try rapping and get messed up like this song is?" Jim rapped as everyone around looked at him strangely, "This plot's dead weight. I'm trying to get the word count straight, but I can't figure out how many mooks I want to decimate!"

And Jack Wack said: "Jim Stalin your plot's dead!"

"Uh-uhhh!" Jim said.

"So why's this rap said?" Jack asked him, "Man, you're a space cadet!"

"Well, since page twelve I've felt like I'm somewhere else," Jim rapped, "Cause I left my original self in the dust of the book shelf. I got tipped off and ripped half my plot off and faked it so hard that my plot began to flip flop."

"Lame!" Jack yelled, to be perfectly ignored.

"I try to rap and this plot falls on its ass," Jim rapped, "Faster than a five year old in Michael Jackson's flat."

"Nauseating," Jack mumbled.

"Come here, Reizvolle," Jim said.

"Stalin," Adam's disembodied voice came from somewhere in the mountains, "Wait a minute, that's my girl you fraud!"

"I don't give a suck," Jim rapped, "The author sent me to piss you all off!"

"You're doing that admirably," Jack said, "I guess it's time to chorus again..."

"Hi!" Jim said, repeating it all over again, "My name is..."

"What?" Jack said, playing along.

"My name is..." Jim continued.

"Who?" Jack sighed.

"My name is..." Jim finished after a scratch, "Jim Stalin!"

"And again!" Jack yelled.

"Hi!" Jim said, continuing to imitate Eminem, "My name is..."

"Huh?" Jack said, trying not to sound bored.

"My name is..." Jim said again.

"What?" Jack sighed.

"My name is..." Jim finished doing another scratch, "Jim Stalin!"

"And here we go again!" Jack mumbled in exasperation.

"My author wanted me to have sex with her on the fly," Jim rhymed, "The only problem is that we're in a story that leaves you stupefied. So I faked it and left her with a wink and a censored and then did her in a way that personified this plotless defecator."

"Eeeew!" Jack shuddered, "Way too literal..."

"Walked into the Louvre, thought we had this plot zipped up," Jim rapped, "Failed to make it work and then it collapsed, man we messed up!"

"You said it!" Jack agreed.

"Extra special sauce, killin' plot line talks," Jim rhymed nonsensically, "Rappin' to nonexistent songs while Jack is screaming..."

"Please just let it end!" Jack screamed on cue.

"Ninety-nine percent of this story you've been lied to," Jim rapped, "I just found out that Jack Wack makes more sense than I do. I told him I'd grow up to be an adventure hero, make a record about killing mooks and name it after him."

"Oh, am I supposed to thank you?" Jack wondered.

"You know we blew up the Gremlin, it's lost with all hands," Jim rhymed, "And tried to keep it going with some lame running jokes you can't stand."

"Arrgh!" Jack yelled.

"The mooks back on the curves are now smoking crack," Jim said.

"Dude," Jack said, playing along, "Can I get your ass smacked?"

"Sorry Jack, I got a wife to support you know," Jim grinned.

"So do that idiotic chorus again," Jack told him.

"Hi!" Jim said, repeating it all over again, "My name is..."

"What?" Jack said, fighting the urge to shoot him.

"My name is..." Jim whined.

"Who?" Jack spat.

"My name is..." Jim said after a scratch, "Jim Stalin!"

"And again!" Jack yelled.

"Hi!" Jim said, continuing to irritate Eminem, "My name is..."

"Huh?" Jack said, trying not to sound bored.

"My name is..." Jim said again.

"What?" Jack sighed.

"My name is..." Jim finished after another scratch, "Jim Stalin!"

"And here we go again!" Jack mumbled in desperation.

"Stop the page!" Jim yelled, "This plot needs to be locked away!"

"Get the eraser!" Jack exclaimed.

"Jack Wack," Jim said, "Don't just stand there, excoriate!"

"Huh?" Jack wondered.

"I'm so ready to leave, it isn't very scary to die," Jim said, "I'm the hero and yet this plot is dead and ready to be buried tonight. Is it coming or going it can't really coincide. I think the author drank a fifth of vodka, do you dare him to write?"

"No more!" Jack exclaimed.

"All through this story I've been plot deprived," Jim rapped, "I ain't had a point in 37000 words and this story is too dumb to hide, the plot is desperate like those stupid housewives..."

"Getting desperate," Jack said, "Better start wrapping it up..."

"We suck as we go long, We'll screw up anything that plots," Jim rapped.

"Oh dear," Jack sighed.

"When I used to get money I used to go sit," Jim rhymed badly, "How are you going to plot me now, you ain't got no ideas bitch!"

"Bah!" Jack spat.

"He lays awake and straps his keyboard to his back," Jim rapped, "Put in some bad plots and a gay Jewish black dude named Jack Wack!"

"Dang!" Jack said.

"I'm completely mad," Jim rhymed, "And by the way did you see how bad this song is? It's much worse in the dream I had!"

"Finish it!" Jack growled.

"Hi!" Jim said, repeating it all for the last time, "My name is..."

"What?" Jack said, glad it was almost all over.

"My name is..." Jim said.

"Who?" Jack cracked.

"My name is..." Jim said after a scratch, "Jim Stalin!"

"And again!" Jack yelled.

"Hi!" Jim said, continuing to irritate Eminem, "My name is..."

"Huh?" Jack said, trying to sound bored.

"My name is..." Jim said again.

"What?" Jack sighed.

"My name is..." Jim finished after another scratch, "Jim Stalin!"

The music slammed to a stop and Jim Stalin left the area before the angry crowd could catch up with him. The two of them jumped into the strategically placed Gremlin and drove away from the area towards the place that the so-called plot would be catching up with them next.

## Chapter XXII – A Gremlin Drive to the Prize

"That was pointless," Jack said as he drove the Gremlin, "So where are we going?"

"It's time to try to get the Black Fossil before Adam and Reizvolle do," Jim said, "I'm sick of getting shot at. Aren't you?"

"And why would getting the black fossil actually stop that?" Jack wondered, "Won't it give them even more reason to chase us?"

"Keep using logic like that and you won't last the last 11636 words," Jim reminded him, "We're not quite done yet, you know that?"

"I keep trying to endure," Jack sighed, "Ok, so where are we going?"

"Well," Jim said, thinking about that, "We've been to an island, been to Paris, we've been to a snow covered mountain."

"Only place we haven't been is Washington D.C.," Jack said, "Should we go spoof a political novel?"

"Please," Jim said, "We can only take so much crap. Let's leave politics out of this, shall we?"

"So where are we going?" Jack asked again, "I mean the author actually told you something, didn't he because I didn't learn a damned thing from him."

"What makes you think I know what you're doing?" the author asked them, "I don't have any more idea on what to do with you two idiots than I do on how to cure Michael Jackson's pedophilia. The last section should have taught you that."

"So what is this chapter here for?" Jim wondered, "I mean you have to be writing it for some reason."

"I'm trying to brainstorm the rest of the book," the author shrugged, "That means that talking to you is part of it. Beats describing a tuna sandwich in detail. So I'm talking to you while I watch the Patriots beat the Chiefs."

"Lovely," Jack said, "You really have no clue, do you?"

"No clue," the author agreed, "No plot, no real exit strategy. I probably should run for office. This seemed to work for President Bush."

"Well," Jim said, being reasonable for once, "Send us somewhere that will make some sense to find the Black Fossil."

"You mean there is such a place?" Jack asked cynically, "I don't see why you don't just pack it in right now. This is such a piece of crap that..."

"That it could be made into a Leslie Neilson movie," Jim finished, "I personally want my chance to kill Adam Dirtpassion. Surely you can't deny me that."

"True," the author said, "Sorry Jack, but you've still got nearly 11000 words to go before this is over. Let's get you back on your way."

"Fine," Jack said, "Let's do it. Just promise me that you won't make us sing anymore?"

"Not right now," the author promised, "I can't honestly make that promise for the rest of the book. Depends on how desperate I get."

"So where are we going?" Jim asked him, "You never got around to saying that."

"You're driving straight ahead thirty miles," the author said, "I'll figure out where that is by the time you get there. So keep driving."

So drive they did. Emboldened by the wise words from the author our heroes drove quickly towards their unknown destination. And even as the author keeps writing this paragraph as a way to avoid having to decide where they are actually going they are getting closer and closer to actually being there. By the time they get there, which will be eventually when I get around to it, they will know exactly what they were looking for.

"We're here!" Jim exclaimed, "See it?"

"No," Jack said, "Where are we?"

"The lair of the black fossil," Jim said, pointing at a large sign that was made by the Artifact Synthesis Syndicate, "That's what it says in very poorly aged letters in a language that I shouldn't understand but for some odd reason I do. It's rather cool really when you think about just how silly this is."

"So we're here and not Adam and Reizvolle?" Jack wondered, "This is really messed up."

"There's nearly 11000 words to go," Jim said, "I have a feeling they will be back, don't you?"

"Good point," Jack agreed, "I also have a feeling we'll be experiencing some crap inside the old cave that the black fossil is hidden in. Shall we park the Gremlin and go inside?"

"Beats driving the Gremlin inside," Jim nodded, "Though that could be a bit funny."

"True," Jack nodded, "Let's do it."

Jack Wack drove the dilapidated Gremlin into the cave and though there was barely enough room to use it, they did it anyway. It was amusing to watch the car go through the cave as the two men in it ducked stalactites and stalagmites driving through an improbably insane course. They wondered just where in fact they would be able to find the Black Fossil in such a massively immense and ugly group of caves.

"How the hell are we supposed to find anything in here?" Jim wondered, "This is an old and damp cave that hasn't been traveled in about five hundred years."

"Sounds like it's promising," Jack said, "All we need to do though is follow the corpses."

"Right," Jim agreed.

It was as easy as that. Jack drove and took a turn every time he found a new corpse anywhere along the route. Of course, the corpses are hundreds of years old and have bits of mummified flesh hanging off of them which made the place really disgusting to look at. Of course, since the author was eating dinner and actually watching a comedy movie the corpses won't be described in all their glory.

"Where the hell did all the dead people come from?" Jack wondered, "Did the Black Fossil get this many people killed?"

"Nah," Jim said, "They probably broke the crematorium and needed a place to dump the bodies. Same as that dickwad in Georgia a few years back."

"Nice image, Jimbo," Jack said, shaking his head, "Can we just finish this ridiculous thing. The sooner we find it, the sooner we get to finish."

"That's what your last boyfriend said," Jim grinned, "Anyway, we have to have some stupid banter before we actually find this crap."

"Yeah," Jack nodded, "But if you keep with this idiotic banter you're going to annoy everyone."

"You already have," the author told them, "Move on."

"What's that up ahead?" Jim asked, "Looks weird whatever it is."

"I wonder what the hell it is," Jack asked, "Should we go to it?"

"Hell yes," Jim nodded, "This could be the culmination of all our hopes and desires for this book."

"No it's not," Jack said, "We still have over ten thousand words to kill you idiot. You don't think it's going to be that easy do you?"

"We'll never know until we go up there," Jim said, "Onward Gremlin!"

"Right," Jack sighed, "I swear, us gay Jewish black dudes just get no respect man."

"Yeah," Jim nodded, "You're the real inheritors of Rodney Dangerfield's legacy. Now drive this idiotic Gremlin to that weird thing ahead of us."

The cracked headlights from the Gremlin lent a pale and eerie glow to the surroundings adding to the oddness that looked like it came from a movie that was designed by the bastard stepchild of Steven Cojocaru and Elton John's gay lover. This is to say that it was indescribable and stupid to the max.

"Why would anyone build a thing like this?" Jim wondered, "This is ugly as sin."

"This coming from the man who would wear a leisure suit to a funeral," Jack said, "I swear man, leave the fashion judgments to us gay Jewish black dudes."

"Hey!" Jim exclaimed, "That leisure suit was in perfectly good taste for Admiral Sackenbrenner's brother's funeral. It fit Larry's style perfectly."

"I can't argue that point," Jack shuddered, "At least the funeral home had good enough taste to hide the comb over."

"I guess you should park this thing," Jim said, "Let's go the last forty yards on foot, shall we?"

"Let's," Jack nodded, "I'm sick of this car."

The two of them walked up the hill to the modern edifice of bad taste that was the final home of the black fossil. It was a mix of architectural styles that managed to change like underwear at a Rocky Horror film festival. The oddest thing about the thing was the two figures sitting at the makeshift table at the edge of the edifice.

"Who the hell are you?" Jim asked the two figures, "You look like men, sort of, but nothing I've ever seen before..."

"Well I may have seen something like this at a Hollywood party," Jack shuddered, "But I think that was Keith Richards."

"Keith Richards should look so good," Jim said, "Who are you? What are you?"

The two figures looked up, finally realizing that they were not alone. They were seriously old men. Not Joan Rivers old, not Supreme Court Justice old, not even George Burns old. These men looked like they had been there to see Moses part the red sea or even Jesus part Mary Magdalene. They looked at Jim and Jack in wonder like they hadn't seen a human being in eons.

"What are you?" the generically named man said, "How did you get here?"

"It is them!" his odd friend said, "Our salvation has come at last!"

"Now I've had a few women calling for god in my time," Jim said, "But your salvation?"

"Jim is no messiah," Jack agreed, "A pain in the ass, usually, but nobody's messiah."

"Not the messiah you idiot!" the generically named man exclaimed, "I'm old enough to realize that those stories are bull. No, you're the one who is the reason we are all here."

"Start making sense," Jim suggested, "It's been a long day and I've been shot at a few too many times to think this is funny."

"Let us introduce ourselves," his odd friend said, "He is the generically named man and I am his odd friend. We are the guardians of the Black Fossil."

"The guardians of the black fossil?" Jack asked incredulously, "The black fossil has been missing for hundreds of years. You can't possibly have been here that long."

"Sure we can," the generically named man said, "If you can survive repeated attempts on your life and drive that Gremlin around the world we can have been here for six hundred and thirty seven years. Not a problem."

"So why are you guarding the black fossil?" Jim wondered, "I mean is it that valuable?"

"Is it that valuable?" his odd friend said, "Is it bloody valuable? You think we would spend six hundred and thirty seven years guarding an artifact that is not bloody valuable? Come now, we've been sitting here for that long. We were only outside this cave until we were twenty six years old. Six hundred and eleven years we've been trading the same stories and playing a bit of backgammon. Is it valuable... yeah... what a question?"

His odd friend spat down on the ground. The generically named man shook his head and looked around, scratching his excessively aged head before he started talking again.

"Is it valuable?" the generically named man asked his odd friend, "You know, ever since that weird guy told us to die six hundred and eleven years ago we haven't set foot out of this cave. I don't know what we're guarding anymore, let alone its value."

"Of course it is valuable!" his odd friend exclaimed, "It would have to be! It's right up there, why don't we look at it and see!"

"Let's have a look," Jim agreed, "I want to see what I've been risking my neck on for just a shade over forty thousand words."

"Yes," Jack nodded, "Let's see what it is."

Jim and Jack followed the generically named man and his odd friend up onto the platform. The Generically named man tried to open the ornate box that had been sitting not ten feet from their backgammon table for six hundred and eleven years, but his frail fingers broke and poured out a little sand.

"Damned osteoporosis," the generically named man grumbled, "Would one of you two young men care to open the box?"

"Why don't you do it, Jack?" Jim said, suddenly fearful of his life.

"No way, white bread," Jack told him, "I'm the gay Jewish black dude sidekick. You get to do all the dumb ass box opening. I'm frankly happy to be keeping my black ass over to the side."

"Come now," his odd friend said, "Hurry it up. I can't remember what this thing is either!"

"Fine!" Jim said, "I'll open it. Just be glad we have about ten thousand more words to go, otherwise I wouldn't touch this damned thing with a ten foot pole."

Jim went over to the ornate box and brushed off the bits of the generically named man's hand off it. He pulled some really cool looking gloves from his pocket and put them on to try to protect his hands from the really nasty looking thing that he was sure was going to be inside the box.

And a nasty thing was there. It was so awful that it was repulsive yet they could not help but look. It was amazing and disgusting all at once. No one knew exactly what it was except for Jack Wack, who had seen it at a show some twenty years earlier.

"I always knew he was a freak of nature!" Jack exclaimed, "Now we have proof of it!"

"What?" Jim said, "It's a nose..."

"Not just any nose my white friend," Jack said, letting the tension build, "It's the black fossilized nose of someone we all know..."

"Alexander the Great?" the generically named man asked, "Julius Caesar?"

"How about King Arthur?" his odd friend put in.

"I don't know if any of them were black," Jim said, "Get to it, Jack. What the hell is this thing."

"It is the holy grail of the black community," Jack explained, "Even us gay Jewish black dudes have been looking for signs of this for years."

"What?" Jim asked.

"It's Michael Jackson's original nose," Jack said, almost in awe, "Here in all it's black, beautiful, pre-pedophilic glory!"

"You're kidding me," Jim said, his expression going flat, "You mean to tell me that I've been shot at, chased, beaten and nearly killed just to find the nose of a third rate pedophilic entertainer who has looked more like Diana Ross than his brothers for better than fifteen years?"

"And how did it get into this holy place?" the generically named man asked, "We have been guarding this for six hundred and eleven years! It can't be that old!"

"This book has been a contradictory piece of stupidity for over forty thousand words now," Jack told them, "You expect logic to creep into the piece now?"

"So why does Reizvolle want it so much?" Jim wondered, "I mean, it's just Michael Jackson's nose."

"It's the thing people have been looking for," Jack explained, "It's the proof that everything is all screwed up. I mean where else but in an idiotic book like this would Michael Jackson's original nose be the central plot piece bringing everything together. Now it all makes sense, I mean I feel like we have meaning in life!"

"Really?" Jim asked him.

"No," Jack admitted, "I just said it because it sounded good. I mean I'm as pissed as you. We went through all this for Michael Jackson's nose?"

"Would you rather it have been a big fossilized dick?" the author asked them, "I mean really..."

"Yes," Jack said, "That would have been funny."

"This book hasn't been funny yet," Jim reminded his partner, "Why should he change now?"

"True," Jack admitted, "But how did it get here?"

"How did you get here?" the author asked them, "How did they get here?"

"I don't know how we got here!" the generically named man exclaimed, "I thought you killed us nearly forty thousand words ago!"

"I thought we killed each other," his odd friend nodded, "And died in a puff of futility."

"If Jason Voorhees can be resurrected in a dozen or so movies," the author told them, "I can bring back two moderately humorous characters that I killed off at the beginning of the book. I can't believe you idiots are ganging up on me now."

"Right," Jim said, "So where are we going now?"

"You're bringing the black fossil back to DC," the author told them, "You'll find out why when you get to Admiral Sackenbrenner's office."

"You mean we have to ride with that thing?" Jack asked, "Yuck."

"What about us?" the generically named man asked, "Do we get to go too?"

"Yeah," his odd friend nodded, "We've been playing backgammon for six hundred and eleven years. I'm ready for a party!'

"Sorry guys," the author said, "Two six hundred year old mooks don't exactly fit their style. It's time for you guys to either die in another puff of futility or play some more backgammon."

"I'm up for another round of backgammon," the generically named man said, "How about you odd friend?"

"Sounds good to me," his odd friend nodded, "I'll deal while you repair your hand."

"So that leaves us," Jim nodded, "I have no idea how to get to DC, you know that?"

"Neither do I," Jack said, "Going to tell us, author dude?"

"Yep," the author nodded, "Backtrack out of this cave and take a right at the end of the chapter. Drive straight for one chapter while I deal with Adam and Reizvolle and create a semi-plot for the last nine thousand words and you'll be right at Admiral Sackenbrenner's parking space."

"Sweet," Jim nodded, "Ready Jack Wack?"

"Ready Jim Stalin," Jack nodded, "See you in two chapters!"

And so they went, taking Michael Jackson's original nose in a doggy bag to serve as a plot for later. As for the generically named man and his odd friend they went back to their game of backgammon and played it until the end of the chapter when the elaborately constructed plot piece was no longer needed and it all fell on top of their heads. So much for the mooks.

## Chapter XXIII – Plan B

"They made it here before we did," Adam said, looking at the remains of the cave, "Think they got the Black Fossil?"

"Of course they did," Reizvolle nodded, "There wouldn't have been much point in them coming here if they didn't."

"So what do we do now?" Adam said, "End the book and run away?"

"Of course not," Reizvolle grinned, "We must get that black fossil ourselves. It could be used for so many wonderfully evil things."

"I take it you have a plan," Adam said, "One that is sufficiently cunning and evil that it is going to keep our interest long enough to burn off the rest of this book?"

"I should think so," Reizvolle nodded, kicking the generically named man's head across the floor, "Enough to piss off that bastard and make him give us the black fossil."

"Don't keep us in suspense," Adam told her, "I want to know..."

"We take his family," Reizvolle said, "Cliché I know, but it will definitely get under his skin."

"If he notices," Adam said, remembering Stalin's romp with her, "He did sleep with you, remember?"

"This is his family," Reizvolle reminded him, "It doesn't matter how crappy a father he is, he will still go after them. Especially since it wouldn't do much for his hero image to let us send his wife and kids back to him in pieces."

"Right," Adam nodded, "How do we find them?"

"Easy," Reizvolle said, waving her hand, "That is the easy part. We are driving a better car. We will be able to get there sooner. Then we will drive right into the nearest suburb and magically find the place."

"What makes you think so?" Adam said, "I mean it has to be a little hard to find a hero's family."

"There will be a big sign," Reizvolle said, "Trust me. Drive. Go out to the edge of the cave and turn left. Go thirty miles and go right. Then drive as fast as you can until you hit Stepford. You'll see the sign."

Adam followed her instructions precisely and after a while he got to the suburbs where Jim Stalin's home was located. Reizvolle caught a quick nap while she let Adam do the driving. They made it there in record time, which was not surprising because the lack of measurable distances in this book meant that they drove just long enough to waste a few words but not long enough to bore the audience to sleep.

"Are we there yet?" Adam asked Reizvolle as she woke up, "I don't know where the hell we are going."

"You'll see the sign," Reizvolle said, "Stop at that mook shack up ahead. We need to restock before we perform a home invasion. You got the last of our last purchase killed with that futile chase back in the mountains."

"Right," Adam said, "There's one around the corner. Saw the ad a few blocks back."

They drove into the International House of Mooks™ and pulled into the drive through window. The clerk's voice came over the intercom asking for their order. The clerk sounded bored as most clerks of this type did.

"Hi, my name is Randall," the clerk said, "Would you like a super mook special with a side of rusty nailed clubs?"

"No thanks," Adam said, "I would like eight of your moderately bright mooks with the optional transportation device. Would like them highly armed with exceedingly illegal armaments."

"Don't forget the side of body armor," Reizvolle said, "No use making it easy for Stalin."

"Oh right," Adam agreed, "Make that two sides of body armor please."

"Very well," the clerk said, hitting buttons, "That would be one hundred and thirty-three thousand nine hundred and eighty-two dollars and forty-two cents."

"Bill it to Admiral Sackenbrenner's account," Reizvolle said, smiling, "He's good for it."

"Done and done," Randall said, "Your mooks will meet you out front."

They drove around the front and waited for the vehicle to get out there. It made it pretty quick and the mooks were as well armed as ever. The International House of Mooks™ was world renowned for their endless supply of mooks for would-be evil geniuses in the Stepford area.

"Looks good," Adam said, "Are we ready now, Reizvolle?"

"I think so," she nodded, "They are definitely good. Now let's hope they help ward off the unwanted federal agents."

The two extra mooks went into the back seat of Adam and Reizvolle's car to provide a little protection or at least another target to be shot at. The car with the other group of mooks followed them closely, following the main vehicle through the streets of Stepford.

"Ok," Adam said, "What am I looking for?"

"The sign," Reizvolle said, "Wait for it."

"What sign?" Adam asked, "I don't get it."

"Look ahead," Reizvolle told him, pointing ahead, "Now do you see the sign?"

"Yes," Adam said, finally seeing the sign, "I do think I see it now."

Just as Reizvolle suspected that since it was important to the nonexistent plot of this story for them to find the family there was a huge neon sign erected on top of Jim Stalin's house that said 'Here I am! This is the home of Jim Stalin! Come and get me!' It was a sign that even someone as dense as Adam Dirtpassion could not ignore by any stretch.

"Very nice," Adam nodded, "Let's go get them shall we!"

"You're the one driving, my mook covered friend," Reizvolle told him, "You've seen the sign, let's put your little brain to work and capture the women."

They drove through the mass of idiot one way streets and finally managed to travel the three miles it took to get to the sign that stared out only four hundred feet from their car. But this was beside the point as they managed to get up to the cute house with the white picket fence that was standing there looking like a house out of the 1950's. It was so cute that it really made Reizvolle want to scream and run away.

"How can someone like Stalin live here?" Adam wondered, "This place would kill me."

"I don't know," Reizvolle admitted, "But maybe that is why he goes on idiot missions like the one he's on. It doesn't matter. We're here to give Mrs. Stalin a bad day. That's what I intend to do."

"Very well," Adam said, "Your plan?"

"Have your mooks go around the house," Reizvolle said, "I'll play avon bitch. Once we get in we can take them and then take them somewhere else so that Stalin will have to play ball with us if he wants his own family back."

"Works for me," Adam agreed, "Come on guys, we have some work to do."

Once Adam and the mooks were all in place Reizvolle hiked up her skirt and her boobs as she walked up to the door. She rang the bell and waited for Stalin's wife to come out. It was not known exactly who they were about to take, but they figured it could be useful to be prepared.

"Hello?" A rather pleasant looking young woman said, "May I help you?"

"Are you Mrs. Stalin?" Reizvolle cooed.

"Yes," she nodded.

"Mrs. James Stalin?" Reizvolle asked.

"That would be me," she agreed, "I don't deny it."

"The same James Stalin who works for Admiral Sackenbrenner?" Reizvolle asked her.

"Yes, Jim works for that old fuddy duddy," she nodded, "May I help you?"

"I'm here to do the obligatory familiar kidnapping," Reizvolle said, suddenly deciding to take the honest approach, "I do apologize, but I must insist that you come with me."

"I don't go anywhere with strangers," Mrs. Stalin said, "I'm afraid I have a soufflé in the oven for when my husband shows up tonight. If he shows up. He spends a lot of late nights at the office lately. Must find out if he's just overworked or if he's boffing another secretary."

"And this doesn't bother you?" Reizvolle wondered.

"Of course not, silly," Mrs. Stalin said, smiling, "I'm not in the book long enough to be offended by the fact that he hasn't touched me in years. Not offended at all."

"Then you won't mind coming with me then," Reizvolle said, "Right?"

"I would mind," Mrs. Stalin told them, "But I don't see as I have a lot of choice, is that correct?"

"Not much at all," Reizvolle admitted, "I have a dozen mooks and my partner backing me up. You can come quietly or we take you."

"May I finish pissing in his soufflé first?" Mrs. Stalin asked her, "It is important that I have that ready when he comes home."

"Sure," Reizvolle nodded, "You may definitely piss in his soufflé."

Mrs. Stalin did so and then came back out with the kid, who was somewhere between cute and an aging child actor trying to find work in a Michael Jackson special. Neither one looked much like Jim Stalin, but that was OK, they were probably better off for that fact. They relinquished themselves into the villains custody and the chapter was pretty well complete.

"What now?" Adam asked Reizvolle, "This was too easy."

"Now we go find a new hiding place and deck it out with traps," Reizvolle said, "We'll have plenty of time to do that while Jim and Jack talk to Admiral Sackenbrenner and go nuts because we took his family. Then he'll have to remember that he had a wife and kid to save. Then we trade the black fossil and kill them all."

"How evil," Adam nodded, "I love it. Let's go."

"Yes, go," the author said, "I have some gliders to strangle. We'll take this up in the next chapter."

## Chapter XXIV – Ransom!

Jim Stalin yawned as Jack Wack brought the dilapidated Gremlin to a stop in the hallway outside Admrial Sackenbrenner's office. Jim opened his door and it fell off into the hallway, leaving a nice little scuffmark on the Government Issue linoleum floor. The smoke was not as bad as it was in Admiral Sackenbrenner's office, however.

"We made it!" Jack exclaimed, "I can't believe this Gremlin is still rolling."

"I can't believe that it fit in the elevator," Jim shrugged, "Let's get the black fossil in there."

"The author was right too," Jack said, surprised by this fact, "Take a right and travel for two chapters."

"He usually is," Jim admitted, sucking up because he knew the story was almost over, "Let's go show Admiral Sackenbrenner what we found before it nauseates us even more!"

"Admiral!" Jack exclaimed, "We have a surprise for you!"

"You're back, huh?" Admiral Sackenbrenner said, releasing the secretary who was pulling a Clinton under his desk, "I thought sure that if the bad guys didn't get you the Gremlin would."

"It's holding up just fine," Jim told him, "Well, except for the roof, the hood, one of the doors and all of the windows at least."

"That's why I gave it to you," Admiral Sackenbrenner nodded as he started yet another cigar, "I knew you would destroy it. You have destroyed every vehicle we have ever issued you. That is part of what you do best."

"That is the truth," Jack agreed, "Planes, trains and automobiles. Jim Stalin can destroy them all."

"It was worth it this time though," Jim reminded them, putting the large ancient box that they had pulled out of the old cave, "We found what we were looking for."

"What was that?" Sackenbrenner asked, "I have no idea what you were looking for."

"The Black Fossil, remember?" Jim reminded him, "That coveted object that Alexandra got killed because the bad guys were looking for it?"

"Who's Alexandra?" Admiral Sackenbrenner asked, "I'm just your boss. I don't know what the heck you've been up to. This is the government, not a business. It doesn't matter if I get it right or not."

"She's my former partner who was murdered," Jim recapped, "Come on now, you aren't that senile are you?"

"Of course not," Sackenbrenner said, "But there's been quite a bit of stupidity since then. I had to get you to recap why we got to this point didn't I?"

"True," Jack agreed, "So now that we have the black fossil, what do we do with it?"

"You know," Jim said, "These stories always have us looking for garbage like this but once we find it we never know what to do with it."

"What is it?" Admiral Sackenbrenner wondered, "Is it safe to open in my office?"

"I'm more worried about your smoke damaging it," Jim said, "To be honest."

"It's just Michael Jackson's original nose," Jack shrugged, "Much as he could use it, I doubt you could do anymore damage to it than he did."

"Michael Jackson's original nose?" Sackenbrenner said, "Nice! Break it down!"

Sackenbrenner stood up struck a Michael Jackson pose, which was quite comical since he weighed more than the average European car. Jim and Jack looked at each other in horror since they knew what was going to come next.

"This plot is mine," Admiral Sackenbrenner sang to the tune of Bad, "Gonna take blame alright. I can't show my face... in the bookstore tonight... I'm telling you... On how bad it is... Gonna hurt your mind... Don't plot to thrill... Come on! Come on!"

"That's quite enough!" Jim exclaimed, stopping the music, "I can't do this. I don't even like that song and I can't let you demolish it this bad. Just because the black fossil turned out to be Michael Jackson's nose is no excuse to sing a bad song like that!"

"Like we've needed an excuse before?" Jack said, "I mean you did Eminem and I did that plot song..."

"Yes," Jim agreed, "But Admiral Sackenbrenner is our boss and a very minor character. This is too idiotic even for this idiotic book. Someone has to agree with me and stop this madness!"

"At least until the end of the book," the author agreed, "Besides, I don't even want to have to think about this, let alone try to write it. You can move on now."

"Um," Admiral Sackenbrenner said, coming back to his senses, "Can we at least make some jokes about Michael Jackson's alleged pedophilia?"

"So long as you keep saying alleged," the author nodded, "Those jokes are always funny. At least for now. A few years from now who knows?"

"Maybe we should return it to him and use it to get him to make better music and stop manhandling kids," Jack said, "I mean it could be a good use for such a rare artifact."

"I'd settle for just making him stop making music," Jim shrugged, "But do you think that he'd really want this nose?"

"How did it get fossilized?" Admiral Sackenbrenner wondered, "I mean Jackson himself isn't but 45 or so. This thing is hundreds upon thousands of years old."

"It isn't nice to point out logic holes that large," Jack reminded his boss, "Especially since the audience has been trying to figure that out since we revealed that important plot point some two chapters ago."

"I still want an explanation," Sackenbrenner insisted, "I take a lot of crap out of you two. The least you can do is explain how a 20 year old nose ended up spending thousands of years getting fossilized."

"You really want to know?" Jim asked him, "Are you sure you really want to know that?"

"Of course I do," Sackenbrenner said, "And after the complete pile of horse manure you've thrown up in this idiotic mix of a novel I'm sure the readers would like to know this as well."

"Very well," Jack said, "Let me go at it like this. This is a book that will be able to be read thousands of years from now. Now assuming that the time space continuum is some form of oval construction that goes around and around for millions upon billions upon trillions of years it would mean that any piece of matter that once existed must again exist when it comes all the way back around."

"That makes no sense at all," Admiral Sackenbrenner said.

"I'm not done yet," Jack said, "Now this matter is whipped around the universe at speeds so fast yet so imperceptible to the human being's place in the universe that it goes around and every piece of matter that once was will exist again."

"And," Jim said, taking over and continuing the rant, "So when Michael Jackson's nose was removed along with the part of his brain that kept him from wanting to do bad things to little boys with unmentionable parts of his body laced with Jesus Juice both pieces were sent into space at imperceptible speeds and sent through the space time continuum to the point that it came back into the hands of the generically named man just in time to be in place for it to be used in this idiotic book."

"Congratulations," Admiral Sackenbrenner said, handing both men a cigar, "You have just either annoyed, bored or completely lost the entire audience. Now while I try to make sense out of this mess I think you should listen to what my secretary is about to bust into the room and start crying all over herself about."

On cue, the pretty blonde secretary that has only a cigar fetish in common with Monica Lewinsky came busting into the admiral's smoky office bawling her pretty little head off. Jim Stalin picked her head up off the floor, reattached it back to her body with a piece of duct tape and some crazy glue and tried to calm the panicking woman down.

"Come now," Jim said, "It can't be that bad, can it?"

"It isn't like Ben Affleck and Jennifer Lopez are making another movie," Jack nodded, "Things can't be that bad. What's going on?"

"I have some bad news," the secretary sighed, "Really bad news."

"MTV just started playing music videos again?" Jim asked.

"They just announced plans for CSI: Boise?" Jack asked her.

"Strom Thurmond has come back from the dead to run for president again?" Admiral Sackenbrenner asked, showing his age.

"No!" the secretary said, almost enraged now, "Nothing like that! Adam Dirtpassion and Reizvolle Dirne have taken your family, Jim!"

"Oh," Jim said, "I thought you said it was important."

"Jim!" they all said, "Your family!"

"Oh!" Jim exclaimed, "My family! I forgot I had one. Damn, I haven't seen my son Michael in a while."

"I thought his name was Mark," Jack said.

"Whatever," Jim shrugged, "I guess we'd better go find them, eh?"

"Might be a good idea," Admiral Sackenbrenner nodded, "The heroes guild called, you're overdue on your family rescuing merit badge. This will be a good chance for you to go ahead and make up for lost time with them as well."

"Whatever their names are," Jack grinned.

"Ok," Jim nodded, "Any idea where to find them?"

"Not a one," Jack said, "But that's ok. We have the black fossil."

"You're going to use a valuable object like that to lure them out?" Admiral Sackenbrenner asked, "That is now government property. I can't let you do that."

"You don't get it, do you?" Jim told him, "You don't get a choice. I'm the hero, not you. Plus the Black Fossil isn't the lure, it's going to be the divining rod. It is how I'm going to find them you over-bloated cigar smoking twit."

"Oh," Sackenbrenner nodded, "In that case, I guess it's ok. Just be sure to bring it back. President Bush needs a new cigar holder."

"Will do," Jim agreed, "To the Gremlin?"

"If it will drive, I will drive it," Jack nodded, "Let's rock and roll my insane friend."

They went out and got into the beat up Gremlin. Jim considered a seatbelt, but then went and looked at the word count. They were still far enough away from the end that he could have ridden naked with his butt hanging on the ground and he would still be in good enough shape to actually go through to the end of the book.

I guess the question now is will he find his family and if he does will he recognize them. I guess you will not know until you read the next chapter of this incredibly lame and long-winded book. Now be a good little reader and move your eyes down to the next chapter. There is nothing more to see here, I promise you. Well nothing except me using this long and completely pointless sentence to up the word count so I have to write a little less crap. Like I said, nothing to see here. Really. I promise. Ok, that is enough. Will you kindly go down to the next chapter now? Ok, I will end this crap if you do it. Well, sort of. Next chapter? Ok. Now...

## Chapter XXV – Finding a Forgotten Family

After driving outside of the building Jim climbed onto the front of the Gremlin and installed the black fossil to the front end on a hastily designed spinner that mimicked the pointing function that many video games used to tell you where you needed to go next. Jack kicked back, did a quickie repair on the 8-Track player (you really didn't think a simple bullet would kill that, did you?) and let the strains of Elton John come out of the player.

"You had to fix that, didn't you?" Jim asked him, "Ugh, just don't try to sing to it."

"We're too close to the end," Jack said, "I don't think we'll be singing again until the author has to find a graceful way to close out this farce."

"True," Jim agreed, "I guess we drive in the direction that Michael Jackson's nose points until we find my family."

"That just sounds very odd," Jack sighed, "But that's what I'm doing. I've put it on cruise control and am just steering in that direction. We'll make it there someday."

"Cruise control?" Jim wondered, "On a 1978 Gremlin?"

"Sure," Jack nodded, "Take a look. It was my own installation."

Jim looked down at Jack's feet and saw that a cement block that was held in place by a frayed bungee cord was holding down the gas pedal. Jim nodded appreciatively and sat back as the car was steering itself in the direction that Michael Jackson's nose was pointing them.

"I think you're about to hit that old bag," Jim said, "Might want to turn."

"I don't have control over it," Jack reminded him, "The nose took over a half hour ago."

"Man," Jim said as they hit the old woman, "I hope we didn't just flatten someone's mother."

"No name, no foul," Jack shrugged, "Look at the way she splattered. She was a refugee from the International House of Mooks™.

"That works," Jim agreed, "How much farther do you think we have until we find them?"

"Well," Jack said, hitting the word count button that magically appeared on their dashboard, "Looks like we have a good five thousand words to go. Consider that we'll spend about three thousand of it dealing with this story and another two wrapping up, not to mention the final show stopping musical number..."

"I guess we'll find them in about two hundred to a thousand words," Jim said, nodding appreciatively, "Very well. Let's watch the cows fly by a few times."

Out of nowhere a cow flew out of the clouds to just speed through the air around the Gremlin a few times. It was amusing to see and wasted a few words. As soon as it hit the ground some of the meat flew up on the cleanest part of the engine. They had not had anything to eat since that meal in Paris so they were hungry enough to eat a beefsteak that was properly cooked on the hot motor of the Gremlin.

"Mmm," Jim said, flipping the steaks, "You want yours rare or medium?"

"Let's go for well done," Jack told him, "With as little motor oil as you can manage this time, eh?"

"That works for me," Jim nodded, "I'll take mine medium rare and hope that it doesn't start mooing on me."

They chomped on their steaks as the car drove closer and closer to the place they needed to go. Of course, since we still have some time to kill, we are going to leave them behind for a bit to eat their steaks and go back to the place where Adam and Reizvolle were hiding with Jim Stalin's family. It is only fair and a great way to kill some time until the actual fighting starts.

"So what do we do with them now that we have them?" Adam asked Reizvolle, "Since it is quite clear you've become the head of our little conspiracy here."

"We let them come to us," Reizvolle shrugged, "I mean really, do you really think I need a plan. They have the black fossil. It is all powerful. It is all knowing. I bow down to the black fossil."

"Do you even know what the black fossil is?" Adam asked her, "This thing that is all knowing, all powerful and that you're bowing down to?"

"No," Reizvolle shrugged, "But then again I don't really need to know what it is because I've already decided to bow down to it. It doesn't make any less sense than bowing down to a political leader or a cult guy. The black fossil is probably going to do less damage in the long run."

"That works for me," Adam acknowledged, "Besides, you can't sleep with that like you did that idiot hero."

"What idiot hero?" Mrs. Stalin said, "My idiot hero?"

"Hush," Reizvolle said, ignoring Stalin's wife, "We have evil deeds to plan. Because we're actually here and talking again you know as well as I do that Jim Stalin and that gay jewish black man who has been riding with him is going to show up at any time now. How many mooks do we have on site?"

"Too many," Adam told her, "I'm running out of food and they've drank all my liquor."

"Let them," Reizvolle shrugged, "No need to feed them. You know darn well that Jim Stalin and his friend are going to plow through them like Michael Jackson at a grade school."

"Allegedly," Adam quickly added, to keep in legal bounds, "There's no proof that Michael Jackson would do anything more than scare a group of grade schoolers."

"Right," Reizvolle said, "Anyway, it will be as easy as a Clinton Intern for him. Those mooks are only there to give us a bit of time to think."

"I'd rather spend the time doing something else," Adam said, "I mean you did the hero of this book. The least you can do is spend at least fifteen seconds doing the same thing with me."

"Doing you isn't funny and this is a comedy, not a tragedy," Reizvolle reminded him, patting his head, "Now get that thought out of your head. You're going to die a virgin. I should know. We've probably only got about four thousand words or so to live."

"My god," Mrs. Stalin said, "I never thought that Jim would play around on me!"

"Look at me," Reizvolle said, "I am a hot blonde with a sexy foreign accent. You are a minor character that nobody knows the actual name of nor has anyone bothered to describe. Doing you would be an exercise in boredom, you lower middle-aged wench. You're here to be a plot point. A reason to get that idiot here. You don't think he really cares about you, do you? He can't even remember your name."

"To be honest," Adam suggested, "I doubt that she even knows her name."

"Well... Well... I... I..." She said, thinking about this, "You know, I don't know what my name is."

"Exactly," Reizvolle said, "He's going to come here to further this thing we jokingly call a plot. He could care less about you or the kid."

"Cruel," Adam said, "But probably true."

"I'll get you both," she said, "As soon as I puzzle out a few things."

"Whatever," Reizvolle said, "So do you have the mooks placed appropriately, Adam?"

"Sure," he said, "It will be a pretty shade of crimson on the ground by the time they get here."

"Make sure they take out that Gremlin," Reizvolle warned, "I'm sick of hearing about that thing."

Almost as if it was on cue, the Gremlin came roaring into the grounds of the expensive mansion that they had infiltrated in order to have an appropriate place to have the finale of this book take place. The mansion was big, opulent and belonged to a certain heiress pain in the rear that didn't have enough brains or talent to do anything other than star in a little watched movie that was paid for by a rich boyfriend.

They crashed through the gate, sending two mooks flying artistically into the air, one of which managed to get thrown onto the top of the fence, getting impaled on a large pole, which was really disgusting but a rather artistic end for a mook. The other one landed on top of his head, which was about nine points for style but minus twenty two hundred points for a lousy landing.

"Good one," Jim said, "How did you manage to hit so well?"

"Easy," Jack shrugged, "I used to drive a cab in New York City."

"That would do it," Jim nodded, "Two mooks down, according to the report we got from Admiral Sackenbrenner's account there are six more hanging around this place."

"Gotta love criminal stupidity," Jack grinned, "There's a reason Admiral Sackenbrenner lets the International House of Mooks™ keep billing his credit account for the bad guy's mooks. It's cheaper than actually having a decent intelligence agency case the place before we get here."

"Not going to argue with that logic," Jim nodded, "Especially since this story has proved that there is very little logic of my own."

"So what do we do?" Jack wondered, "Do we go in the front way, sneak around like cowards or put the Gremlin on cruise control to smash into the front of this overly opulent piece of garbage mansion?"

"I like that idea," Jim said, "It will give us a chance to go commando on some of these mooks."

"One cruise controlled Gremlin coming up," Jack said, putting the cement block back into place, "Let me tie off this steering wheel after I direct it at the mansion."

Once the Gremlin was set off properly Jim and Jack hopped out, only having to do a miniscule jog to keep from losing their footing. They went slowly around the back of the mansion while the Gremlin kept on course. Adam Dirtpassion looked out the window and saw the unmanned Gremlin.

"Runaway Gremlin!" Adam screamed, running over to Reizvolle and jumping into her arms, "We only have a minute! Let me spend ten seconds of it showing my passion for you!"

"Go away you idiot," Reizvolle said, "They're here. The mooks should be working on them now. You're the only real man among them so you had better get out there and start working on stopping them from getting us. They had to have brought the Black Fossil with them, so I will try to find that while you are keeping them busy.

"We're partners!" Adam said, "Why do I have to fight them?"

"Because I'm not going to do it," Reizvolle said simply, "I'm pretty, you're not. Get used to it and go beat on that hero."

"What about me?" Jim Stalin's wife asked them.

"I'll be back for you when I fail to find the Black Fossil," Reizvolle told her, "You and your icky little kid too."

Adam slipped out the back to find that Jim and Jack had started the fight with the remaining six mooks without him. Reizvolle went to the door and found that the Gremlin had gained a bit of speed and was about to break through the door. It was rather amusing to see it fly through the door, spread out a few chunks of debris, and stop a few inches from Reizvolle's feet.

"How quaint," Reizvolle sighed, "Must find the black fossil..."

Meanwhile, we switch back to the area where the actual fighting is going on. Jim was beating on one mook while the others simply watched. Jack Wack was bored with it and sitting on the stairs polishing a silver watermelon, thereby giving lift to two offensive stereotypes which he has. We're not even going to go into the aberration that would have to be described to get into the third.

"This is amusing," Jack said to Adam as the villain came out to watch the fight, "You'd think that after this many years and this many bad books and movies the International House of Mooks™ could come up with a model that could realize that they might have a chance to win if they ganged up on the hero."

"Yeah," Adam nodded, "They are pretty disappointing. Too bad IHOM is the only disreputable mook supplier in the United States and Western European territories."

"I don't know," Jack told him, "The former Soviet block mooks are turning out to be a bit better. They'll cost you a bit more to import, but it is easier to make them do things and there are less restrictions on their usage."

"I'll have to remember that for later," Adam said, "Where were you when we visited IHOM a few chapters ago?"

"Riding with him," Jack yawned, "It's been a long drive, but what the hell."

"Wait a minute," Adam said, "You're that gay Jewish black dude!"

"Guilty as charged and insert some lovely Yiddish saying here," Jack said, "Remember, we had dinner back in Paris?"

"Yeah," Adam nodded, "About twenty-five thousand words ago. I guess I should try to kill you."

"Not worth your time," Jack reminded him, "I'm gay. He's the one that did the girl you've been trying to do the entire book."

"That's right," Adam nodded, wincing as Jim managed to kill one of the mooks rather violently, "I guess you wouldn't be worth my time. Unless it would piss him off."

"You already took his wife and kid," Jack reminded the rather dull villain, "Why would killing me piss him off any more than you already have?"

"True," Adam sighed, "Practice?"

"I'd wipe the floor with you," Jack said, "You're not that good. Besides, save yourself for the big fight. I think you're going to be fighting Jim before too long."

Both men ducked the body of a mook as Jim managed to throw another one across the yard at the door. Jim was making a good show of it, especially since the mooks were going in one at a time. Jim beat on them extensively, giving Jack and Adam some more time for inane bantering.

"So do you think you're going to win?" Jack asked him, "Really?"

"Of course I do," Adam said, "I have to. That's my job, remember?"

"To win?" Jack said incredulously.

"No, of course not," Adam said, "That would be silly. No, my job is to think I can win and try right up until anyone a slight bit saner would run like hell."

"That is the first thing that you've said that has made sense to me yet," Jack nodded, watching Jim kick a mook's balls up through his teeth, "I applaud your sense of story."

"I can't help being this way you gay freak," Adam said in an attempt to make everyone hate him even more, "I just want to kill you both because I'm a psychotic homophobic imbecile with a rather insane obsessive desire to have sex with that slut Reizvolle Dirne."

"At least you know what you are," Jack nodded, "I can't argue with logic like that."

Jim was wailing hard on yet another mook while one of the previous ones walked by and pissed out of his mouth. He was trying to readjust to live with a penis and testicles that had been forcibly kicked up to that position. Rather than try very long he took a gun out and blew what little brains he had left out.

"Nice," Jack sighed, "This is getting monotonous."

"Sure you don't want me to try to kill you?" Adam asked him, "I really could use the practice you know."

"Patience my psychotic non-friend," Jack said coolly, "I think Jim is about to kill the last of the mooks. Then it is all up to you."

"Oh very well then," Adam said, nodding, "I think I'll wait and save the knuckle pain for the one who actually did have some sexual relations with the girl I want to marry."

"You are a complete psycho," Jack said, "You know this, right?"

"Of course I do," Adam nodded, "But that's ok. I think I see the guts of the last mook. I believe it is my turn to go through and kill your friend. Do forgive me, but when I finish with him I will have to come finish you off."

"I'll be here," Jack said, nodding, "I do believe you won't be back, however."

"Really?" Adam shrugged, "Well, I guess we'll see about that."

Jack shrugged and watched as Adam walked over to start his final fight with Jim Stalin. Jim Stalin walked around a little bit and looked at the larger man who was completely clean. Jim was covered in mook blood and various other remnants from the fights he just finished.

"Ahh," Jim said looking at his nemesis, "You know, we have been shooting at each other for a whole book now. You know what this means don't you?"

"We're married and don't know it?" Adam said, trying to figure out what Jim was up to.

"No," Jim said, shaking his head, "It's time for me to kick your butt. I'm sick of running. I'm sick of killing. I'm sick of people like you taking my family every few years!"

"Whine, whine, whine," Adam said, "If it weren't for us taking them you'd forget you had them."

"That's not the point!" Jim exclaimed, "They deserve better than this! They deserve to live a pointless life in the suburbs and to start doing drugs at an early age. Then they deserve to grow up, go to detox and live entirely screwed up lives where they talk about how messed up their absentee father made them. That is what I wanted for my family, not to have them stolen by a hot psycho woman and an imbecilic criminal mastermind and made to remember that I don't know what the hell my wife's name is!"

"Wow," Jack said, "Nice speech, Jim."

"I never thought about it that way," Adam said, "That was touching, Stalin. I mean that."

"Does this mean that we don't have to fight this out?" Jim asked hopefully, still a bit tired from the mook fights.

"No," Adam shrugged, "It means that I still want to kick your butt, but I'm going to have a slight bit more regret about it later."

"Great," Jim said, "I guess we had better get this over with, shall we?"

"Yes," Jack said, "Stop talking about it and kill each other already so we can get on with what we laughably call a plot."

"Very well then," Adam said, "Any last words?"

"Yes," Jim said, rearing up and kicking Adam Dirtpassion straight in the balls, "Wear a cup next time, Adam."

Adam's face contorted in pain as he was not used to getting this much pain from that area. This was not his first run as a villain but it was the first time any of the heroes stooped low enough to kick the villain in the nether regions. Jim didn't care anymore. He just wanted to lay that pain in the rear down on the ground just once before the beating commenced.

"You... Will... Die... For... That..." Adam gargled as he went down a bit and gained his composure. He finally came back with a soprano voice, "You are a dead man!"

Adam launched himself into Jim Stalin, trying to tear the hero apart with his hands. Jack went over to the porch and took a large shovel to keep in case things got out of hand. Jim wasn't going out lightly though. He was fighting and giving as good as he gave. Adam punched Jim in the throat, Jim punched Adam in the side. Adam punched Jim in the side, Jim punched Adam in the solar plexus. Adam tried to punch Jim in the balls, Jim walked up behind him and cracked him upside the head with a wooden plank taken from the table next to him.

"Take that!" Jim said, grinning as he watched Adam go down, taking the stunt double with him, "Do you really think I'm going to get hurt that much before I find my family!"

The stunt double, thoroughly beaten on, left the scene and left Adam facing off with the real Jim Stalin this time, instead of the poorly written double that had taken out the mooks. Jim danced around, fully refreshed because he hadn't fought with anyone yet."

"Must... Kill..." Adam gargled, "Must... have... sex..."

"I don't think you're going to be capable of that for long," Jim said, "I think I'm going to kill you."

"You... don't... have... the... balls..." Adam croaked.

Jim grinned, reared back and kicked Adam so hard that what was left of his balls went up into his throat. Adam reared back and lunged at Jim Stalin, trying to beat on the man until there was nothing left to beat on. Unfortunately, Jack Wack still had that shovel and the clang that came when Jack brought it down accidentally on Jim's head alerted people to a fight from miles around.

"Ow! Wrong imbecile!" Jim croaked, as Adam's hands were wrapped around his neck, "Get this lunatic off me!"

Adam, not being completely stupid, managed to turn the thing over, strangling Jim harder with his left hand while punching him with the right hand. Jim groaned and fought to move his hand. Jack tried to whack Adam again, but the plate in Jim's head had dented the shovel, making it much more difficult to aim. Jim managed to get things flipped over and get on top.

"Dude," Jack said, "That looks almost like fun. Or at least it would be if you could actually breathe."

"Kill... him..." Jim growled, "Now!"

"All right, all right," Jack said, "How do you want me to do it?"

"I... don't... care..." Jim gurgled, "Just do it!"

"Right then," Jack said, "Here goes!"

Jack had an epiphany and went over to the bar on the porch and got a soufflé from it. Do not ask me what a soufflé was doing there, but it was there and it was just the right size for Jack to piss in. Piss in it he did, as people had been threatening to do for this entire book. Jack went over and jammed the pissed in soufflé into the psychotic imbecile's face while using the shovel to break one of his arms.

"I pissed in your soufflé!" Jack exclaimed, pushing the pan into the villain's face, "Die Adam!"

Jim fought the hands as Adam drowned in the pissed in soufflé. It took a few minutes, but the large form finally went still and they were able to extricate Jim from the body. He shuddered as he looked at the soufflé covered criminal imbecile.

"Did you have to resurrect that joke?" Jim asked Jack, "That was disgusting."

"I didn't do it!" Jack protested and pointed through the screen at the author, "He did!"

"I had to kill him somehow," the author told them, "You're down to about thirteen hundred words before I get bored of this. Get your butts upstairs and save your wife and kid from that hot blonde."

"All right," Jim said, "Jeeze. I'll get enough lecture when I see Sara."

"I thought her name was Sally," Jack said.

"Whatever," Jim said crossly, "Let's go."

## Chapter XXVI – The Rescue

For some unknown reason completely unrelated to the fact that we wanted this to have a bang up ending, the house started exploding in random locations as Jim Stalin and Jack Wack went inside to try to find Jim's wife and kid. It was not at all hospitable, but it was not bad enough to put them in the hospital either.

"Oh brother," Jim said, "Here we go with the puns again."

"Just get a move on," the author told them, "You have a wife and kid to save."

"So you keep telling me," Jim said, "I'm getting sick of hearing about that."

"Then do it already," Jack suggested, "The sooner we save them the sooner this ends and the sooner this becomes a bad memory for all of us."

"True that," Jim agreed, "Let's go."

They plowed through the smoke and debris to make it to a rather rickety looking staircase. Jim looked up and thought he saw Elvis, but most likely that was because the author was tripping while listening to some really bad Lisa Marie Presley song while trying to crunch out the last 1300 words of this ridiculous story. He turned to Jack and grinned.

"I think you should go first," Jim said, "You'll see them first."

"Hell no," Jack said, "I'm just a gay Jewish black dude. You're the idiot hero. You can march your ass up those steps. They don't pay me enough to die that quick!"

"Fine!" Jim sighed, "I'll do it."

Jack watched as Jim went up the stairs and only fell through twice. He grinned and dodged around the holes, joining his old friend at the top of the poorly protected building. It was opulent and like most overpriced opulent buildings they didn't know a damn thing about fireproofing.

"This place is going up like a Christmas tree," Jim said, "We need to get them out quickly."

"They'll be in the far back," Jack said, "Don't ask me how I know. That is always where they are in cases like this."

"True," Jim nodded, pulling out a gun that he took off Adam Dirtpassion's body, "You know, he was armed and still tried to beat me to death. Gotta love that."

"Of course," Jack said, "Why kill cleanly when you can beat them to a bloody pulp and get killed by a soufflé."

"Jim Stalin," they heard a sexy voice call out to them, "We're in here. We've been waiting for you."

The two men walked into the room and found it to be a rather appropriate final lair for a villain of Reizvolle's sexual caliber. It was the scene of many improperly documented romps by a certain group of heiresses who had cocked up a plan to take over the world through the use of bad television and porn videos.

"Come on in here," Reizvolle cooed, "I've been waiting for you."

"Yes," Jim nodded, "I see that. You are alone now. You know that, right?"

"Did you ever doubt it would be that way?" Reizvolle asked him, "You, me and the black fossil."

"We're still here, Jim," his wife said, "Don't forget about your son and me."

"Son?" Jack said, "I thought you had a daughter?"

"Whatever," Jim grumbled, still staring at Reizvolle, "So we're here now. What was so all fired important about getting the black fossil that it caused all of this damage? I just want to know."

"You think this is the part of the story where the villain sees the error of her ways and breaks down blubbering as to where she went wrong?" Reizvolle said, "Is that what you really think?"

"Yes," everyone said in unison.

"Oh," Reizvolle nodded, "In that case, I guess I'll admit it. I miss the old Michael Jackson. I spent years dreaming about him. I want to restore him back to something I can drool over. I want my youth back!"

"And you think that taking my family and getting this black fossil will do all of that for you?" Jim asked her, "Why was that worth so many lives?"

"It wasn't," Reizvolle said, "But if I didn't go this far overboard you would have run out of plot some forty seven thousand words ago."

"I can't argue with that logic," Jim agreed, "But it's over. We have the fossil."

"I have your family," Reizvolle said, "I hold the cards."

"No," Jim said, "The author does. There is one major logical flaw in your arguments here."

"What is that?" Reizvolle asked, "I have a gun, your family and I want the black fossil. What have I forgotten?"

"You've run out of time," Jim said, "You're not holding a gun, you're holding a banana. The black fossil is burning as we speak in the Gremlin that you set on fire downstairs and the audience is getting really bored of your sexiness. They also don't want to make me have to hit a lady, so you're going to do something stupid and accidentally kill yourself."

"Like what?" Reizvolle said, dropping the banana and pacing, "Now that makes no sense."

"You won't hurt my family," Jim said, "You would rather torture me by leaving them alive."

Reizvolle thought about her options for a moment as she paced. Unfortunately, she was running out of time and interesting things to do. So instead of try to figure out a way to end her place in this book gracefully she stepped on the banana and slipped, falling backwards and impaling herself on a shard of glass as her beautiful but lifeless body tumbled down to the ground to lay on top of Adam's.

"Poetic," Jack said, "A fitting end."

"Can you get me out of here now?" Jim's wife asked him, "Our son too?"

"I thought we had a daughter?" Jim asked as he untied his wife.

"I thought I had married Jack," his wife said, "We all make mistakes."

"Like marrying him," Jack agreed, "So what do we do now?"

"We need to go to the epilogue," Jim said, "Right Angie?"

"I thought her name was Alisa?" Jack said.

"Whatever," Jim and his wife said as they kissed, winking at the audience as they did so.

And now it is time to go to the epilogue, to wrap up everything in the same way that everyone should wrap things up. With an idiotic musical number designed to make the whole plot seem even more absurd than it did a few minutes before.

## Epilogue – Always Look for the End of the Plot

The final number started the music, a nice little rousing tune that was very similar to the Monty Python tune "Always Look on the Bright Side of Life" but was of course just different enough to avoid a lawsuit, as the few people living in the final chapter managed to make their way out of the burning mansion.

"Cheer up, Jim," Jack started, feeling happy to be alive, "You know what they say..."

"What?" Jim said, then heard the music.

"Some plots in life are bad, they really are so sad," Jack sang, "Other ones just make you retch and hurl. When you're writing such phishizzle, don't mumble, Give them sizzle... And this will make things turn out quite a mess..."

"Very nice," Jim said, his wife nodding approval.

"And... Always look for the end of the plot," Jack sang, whistling in the middle "Always look on the far end of the plot..."

Admiral Sackenbrenner and Jim's kid joined in on the whistling this time as Jack began singing again.

"If this plot seems wholly rotten," Jack sang, "There's something you've forgotten, and those are called plot holes and that sort of thing... When the plot is in the dumps, play your silly chumps, Just plot yourself into a corner that's the thing... And..."

The annoying French cop joined in with the chorus this time, as did Jim's wife and a few stray mooks that meandered up onto the plot line now that the fighting was over.

"Always look for the end of the plot," they sang, followed by the requisite whistling.

"Come now!" Jack sang, "Keep whistling!"

"Always keep in mind some sort of plot..." they all sang, followed by the infernal whistling again.

"Yes this plot is quite absurd," Jack sang, while Jim enjoyed the song, "And this song's the final word. It's curtains for the bad guys anyhow... Forget how dumb it's been... How we've made the reader's cringe..."

They all started singing together again, every living person that has been forgotten from the earlier list and probably a few mooks who managed to scrape enough parts to have enough of a larynx to sing with.

"Ignore it... It's on it's last gasp anyhow..." They all sang, "Always look for a plot that has already left..."

They whistled again...

"Hey we've beaten this plot to death..." They sang before continuing the whistled.

"This plot is full of it," Jack sang, "When you look at it. It's full of death and crude jokes, it's true. You'll see it all to go, keep laughing until you know... Just remember that the sequel is all about you... Oh..."

They were about to sing some more of the song, but then the author realized that he had finally passed the fifty thousand word mark and that this song was no longer needed to finish. So he stepped out from the group that was singing and looked at his watch.

"What are you looking at?" Jim asked the author, "We're not done singing yet!"

"Wait for it..." the author said, looking up, "Just a moment now..."

The group kept singing and laughing as a helicopter flew overhead. Suddenly, from out of the blue it was obvious that the helicopter had something very familiar hanging from a wire. It was amusing because it was the old dilapidated Gremlin. Somehow the helicopter had dredged it up and brought it back.

"There's the Gremlin!" Jim exclaimed, "They're bringing it back to us!"

"Such a good car that was!" Jack nodded, "Right here guys!"

The helicopter came over and released the car. It dropped like a stone, just like it was meant to and made a direct course towards our hero and his gay Jewish black dude friend....

SPLAT

"That's that then," the author said as the Gremlin flattened all the characters, "Nothing more to see here. I told you that I was going to do this. Now sod off. Go read a good book. Or at least something other than this because this is a portion that I like to call the end of the book. The moral of the story is don't keep writing after the characters piss you off. Goodbye!"

The author walked away and went to bed with his wife, his adventures in nanowrimo completed and normal writing back to what it should be.

THE END

Word Count Chart for the Black Fossil November 1st through November 25, 2004.

## Other Titles by Rodney Mountain

Immortal Universe Novels

The Healy Murders

Durell's Insurrection

The Accidental Immortal

Undercover

The Killer Strikes

Anoki's Revenge

The Immortal Progression

Corporate Immortality

Not With a Whisper

The Mullinix: Ascension

The Mullinix: Redemption

The Mullinix: Resolution

Other Works

Night Strike (Short Story Anthology)

