This was recently sent to me by a friend who shall remain nameless (Laura). It actually looks fun and I would probably go see it given sufficient prodding:
Abraham Lincoln Vampire Hunter
This led to some internet detecting and I discovered this gem: Jesus Christ Vampire Hunter
Apparently this is some sort of ‘thing,’ wherein you take a historical figure and have them fight the forces of evil. It makes a weird sort of sense. Historical figures are to put it mildly, historical, and therefore more or less famous. Their names are readily recognizable and therefore make for free publicity. After all, no one would go see ‘Jason Janicki: Ninja Fighter,’ but ‘Genghis Khan: Ninja Fighter’ is an instant draw.
NOTE: Obviously, my immediate family would have to go see it. After all, I am the youngest, so if they have any hope of someone taking care of them when they get old, they have to humor me. Plus, I know where they live.
So, in order to cash in on what will probably become a trend, I’ve assembled a list of people, creatures, and actions so people (such as you) can make their own ‘X battles Y’ mash-ups. Simply pick one from each column and you’ve got a title you can use:
NOTE: Blogger hates columns, so use your imagination.
George Washington Armadillo Puncher
Thomas Jefferson Zombie Killer
Mohandas Gandhi Nazi Fighter
Anne Frank Werewolf Kicker
Margaret Thatcher Nerd Spooker
Ramses II Clown Strangler
George Patton World Smasher
Andrew Jackson Vampire Stabber
Mother Theresa Demon Hunter
Helen Keller Mummy Thrasher
Mary Shelley Dragon Tamer
Cleopatra Hamster Destroyer
Louis XIV Devil Crusher
Personally, I would totally see Anne Frank: Nazi Hunter. I have this mental image of a young girl wielding an iron bound book on a chain (like a meteor hammer – the ball on a long chain like the evil schoolgirl in Kill Bill used) beating the hell out of a lot of Nazis. I realize that Anne Frank died tragically and I have the utmost respect for her and her work, but I would still pay to see a fictionalized version of her beat the crap out of a lot of bad men.
Anyway, I’m sure you get the idea. And, obviously, should you make a multi-million dollar feature film using my title generator, I would appreciate a small gratuity, say 5% of gross. Or, you could just let me meet Olivia Wilde and have her pretend not to be horrified.
Cheers,
-Jason
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
The Best Side: Part 7
The carnage was too terrible to describe.
Well, actually, it just a lot of dead guys with the occasional random limb thrown in. The walls were splashed red, which really clashed with the orange and purple décor. Ninjas and mimes were slumped or laying on every conceivable surface, some dying, some already dead, some doing their taxes.
There was still a spirited battle going on, as ninjas and mimes fought back and forth across the diner. A ninjas went down to an imaginary bat with nails in it. As he writhed on the floor, the mime went for the killing blow, only to be struck by 112 shurikens and a menu. Ninjas died with muted screams, as they clutched at their ragged wounds and wandered around, looking for a clear spot to fall down on. Mimes died silently, with many an exaggerated gesture or last attempt to get out of a box.
Only about a dozen were left on either side and they were panting. A ninja was catching his breath right by the door to the kitchen when I burst out. He caught three Kens in the kisser before he knew what was up. A mime with an imaginary shotgun ran by, trying to get a clear shot on the ninja with the shuriken launcher. The Kens were not kind to him either.
“What’s in that thing?” the Dame asked from behind me.
“I filled the Ken dolls with steel shot. What?” I said, with a quick glance over my shoulder. “I’m not stupid.”
“The jury’s still out on that.”
The fighting was now centered on the buffet, where the remaining clowns and mimes fought for honor and possibly, the last of the pepperoni pizza.
There were a dozen dead mimes around one of the ninjas, his shinobi katana gleaming with invisible mime blood. A mime stood near the salad bar, some twenty feet away, fallen ninjas and spilled dressing littering the floor around him.
They were both exhausted and wounded, but they fought on, their strikes and punches still strong and true. These men fought not for pride or riches, but because in their cold, dark worlds, there was nothing else they could do. They were also really stoked for the new Hobbit movie.
They suddenly noticed each other: ninja and mime. Two men with vastly different fashion sense, but experts in their own deadly art.
“Oh!” I said, as the two ninjas went after the mime and a pair of mimes tried to outflank the ninja. The attackers went down in a frenzy of swordplay and imaginary baguette work and now the two masters were the last ones standing.
“’Oh!’ what?” asked the Dame.
The ninja and mime eyed each other. The ninja brought up his sword in a salute, which the mime returned.
“I just figured it out,” I said, as the last ninja and mime began to circle. “We’re not the ones in the John Woo movie. They are.”
“Huh?”
“Two men, both badasses, from different worlds develop mutual understanding and respect, yadda yadda.”
“Oh, I get it,” said the Dame, stepping forward to stand by me. On cue, the doves flew out of the kitchen in slow motion, curving gracefully between the two foes as they still circled. “What normally happens at the end of a John Woo movie?”
“I honestly haven’t seen that many,” I said, laying my flail across my shoulder. “But I think the heroes tend to die a lot.”
“Then that makes it easy.” The Dame walked forward, her heels squishing on the now soaked carpeting. Both the ninja and mime turned towards her as she approached.
“Excuse me, gentlemen,” the Dame said. The ninja and mime glanced at each other and shrugged.
At which point, the Dame double-tapped them both.
“I can’t decide,” I said after a moment. “Whether or not that was really mean.”
The Dame blew the smoke from the barrel of her .38. “Who am I to argue with John Woo?”
“You have a point.”
“So,” she said, as she stepped over a body. “Do we have a deal?”
“Well, everyone who knows where I am is dead, so I guess you didn’t blow my cover.”
I took a deep breath, which was a bad idea in a room full of dead people and spilled pizza. “How about this,” I finally said. “Can you hole up for a week? Give me some time to come up with a plan?”
“I think I can manage.”
I held out my hand. “Then we have a deal.” She stepped forward to shake. “On one condition,” I said. Her eyebrow raised. “No poisoning, shooting, or knocking me unconscious.”
“That’s three conditions.”
“Take it or leave it.”
“Fine.”
We shook and then made our way towards the front door.
“Come find me in a week,” I said, holding the door open for her.
“Bet on it,” she replied, stepping out into the cold Oregon winter and turning right.
I followed her out and then turned left, pulling my coat collar up against the crisp air. “Looks like things are going to get interesting,” I said, as I neared my pickup.
Something hit me in the head as I pulled my keys from my pocket and as the world went dark, I heard a distant voice say, “The Montebank says ‘hi.’”
Le Fin
Well, actually, it just a lot of dead guys with the occasional random limb thrown in. The walls were splashed red, which really clashed with the orange and purple décor. Ninjas and mimes were slumped or laying on every conceivable surface, some dying, some already dead, some doing their taxes.
There was still a spirited battle going on, as ninjas and mimes fought back and forth across the diner. A ninjas went down to an imaginary bat with nails in it. As he writhed on the floor, the mime went for the killing blow, only to be struck by 112 shurikens and a menu. Ninjas died with muted screams, as they clutched at their ragged wounds and wandered around, looking for a clear spot to fall down on. Mimes died silently, with many an exaggerated gesture or last attempt to get out of a box.
Only about a dozen were left on either side and they were panting. A ninja was catching his breath right by the door to the kitchen when I burst out. He caught three Kens in the kisser before he knew what was up. A mime with an imaginary shotgun ran by, trying to get a clear shot on the ninja with the shuriken launcher. The Kens were not kind to him either.
“What’s in that thing?” the Dame asked from behind me.
“I filled the Ken dolls with steel shot. What?” I said, with a quick glance over my shoulder. “I’m not stupid.”
“The jury’s still out on that.”
The fighting was now centered on the buffet, where the remaining clowns and mimes fought for honor and possibly, the last of the pepperoni pizza.
There were a dozen dead mimes around one of the ninjas, his shinobi katana gleaming with invisible mime blood. A mime stood near the salad bar, some twenty feet away, fallen ninjas and spilled dressing littering the floor around him.
They were both exhausted and wounded, but they fought on, their strikes and punches still strong and true. These men fought not for pride or riches, but because in their cold, dark worlds, there was nothing else they could do. They were also really stoked for the new Hobbit movie.
They suddenly noticed each other: ninja and mime. Two men with vastly different fashion sense, but experts in their own deadly art.
“Oh!” I said, as the two ninjas went after the mime and a pair of mimes tried to outflank the ninja. The attackers went down in a frenzy of swordplay and imaginary baguette work and now the two masters were the last ones standing.
“’Oh!’ what?” asked the Dame.
The ninja and mime eyed each other. The ninja brought up his sword in a salute, which the mime returned.
“I just figured it out,” I said, as the last ninja and mime began to circle. “We’re not the ones in the John Woo movie. They are.”
“Huh?”
“Two men, both badasses, from different worlds develop mutual understanding and respect, yadda yadda.”
“Oh, I get it,” said the Dame, stepping forward to stand by me. On cue, the doves flew out of the kitchen in slow motion, curving gracefully between the two foes as they still circled. “What normally happens at the end of a John Woo movie?”
“I honestly haven’t seen that many,” I said, laying my flail across my shoulder. “But I think the heroes tend to die a lot.”
“Then that makes it easy.” The Dame walked forward, her heels squishing on the now soaked carpeting. Both the ninja and mime turned towards her as she approached.
“Excuse me, gentlemen,” the Dame said. The ninja and mime glanced at each other and shrugged.
At which point, the Dame double-tapped them both.
“I can’t decide,” I said after a moment. “Whether or not that was really mean.”
The Dame blew the smoke from the barrel of her .38. “Who am I to argue with John Woo?”
“You have a point.”
“So,” she said, as she stepped over a body. “Do we have a deal?”
“Well, everyone who knows where I am is dead, so I guess you didn’t blow my cover.”
I took a deep breath, which was a bad idea in a room full of dead people and spilled pizza. “How about this,” I finally said. “Can you hole up for a week? Give me some time to come up with a plan?”
“I think I can manage.”
I held out my hand. “Then we have a deal.” She stepped forward to shake. “On one condition,” I said. Her eyebrow raised. “No poisoning, shooting, or knocking me unconscious.”
“That’s three conditions.”
“Take it or leave it.”
“Fine.”
We shook and then made our way towards the front door.
“Come find me in a week,” I said, holding the door open for her.
“Bet on it,” she replied, stepping out into the cold Oregon winter and turning right.
I followed her out and then turned left, pulling my coat collar up against the crisp air. “Looks like things are going to get interesting,” I said, as I neared my pickup.
Something hit me in the head as I pulled my keys from my pocket and as the world went dark, I heard a distant voice say, “The Montebank says ‘hi.’”
Le Fin
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
The Best Side: Part 6
“What?” I said. “You don’t like it?” In my hand was a flail made out of three headless Ken dolls joined by chains to a door handle from a ’88 Subaru.
“Stupid is the word that comes to mind,” she replied. “I’m going out the back door. Good luck with that” she made a gesture at the flail. “Thing.”
“I wouldn’t do that,” I said, swinging my flail in a little circle. It made a whistling noise that sounded exactly like a load of ape poop being flung out of a trebuchet.
The Dame ignored me and walked quickly towards the back door, her heels clicking on the tiled floor. She stepped over a reanimated chicken and in two more steps was at the door. “Y’know,” she said, pausing with her hand on the knob. “I really thought you could help. Sorry about the ninja thing.”
“No worries,” I said. I whacked my flail against the stainless steel counter. It made an amazingly satisfying thud and left three disturbingly Ken-shaped dents.
“You’re not going to stop me?”
“Nope.”
“Seriously?” She turned, hands on her hips. “You’re just going to let me walk out alone to face unknown peril by myself. And here I thought we had something.”
“Everytime we’ve met I ended up unconscious and/or shot. That’s not really a stable base for a relationship. Besides, we might meet again. I’m only 50% certain that door is trapped.”
“Trapped?”
“Yep.” I zipped up my fly, as I had previously forgotten to do so. “Like I said, we did that last time. If I were a ninja or a mime, I’d put a claymore or four on the next back door.”
The Dame glanced at the door, an eyebrow raised. “That does make a certain sense.”
“So today,” I said. “This nerd’s going out the front.”
“With a flail made out of Ken dolls.”
I grinned. “It’s all about the style.” I walked over to the door to the dining room, flail in my right hand, my left ready to push the door open. “You coming?” I asked, without turning around.
There was a clicking of heels and then the click of a hammer being pulled back. This was followed by the rapid clicking of one of those ball banging thingies people put on their desks, but that’s immaterial.
“On three?” the Dame asked, from close behind.
“How ‘bout one?” I said, as I pushed through the door and leapt into the room.
Next: Le Fin.
“Stupid is the word that comes to mind,” she replied. “I’m going out the back door. Good luck with that” she made a gesture at the flail. “Thing.”
“I wouldn’t do that,” I said, swinging my flail in a little circle. It made a whistling noise that sounded exactly like a load of ape poop being flung out of a trebuchet.
The Dame ignored me and walked quickly towards the back door, her heels clicking on the tiled floor. She stepped over a reanimated chicken and in two more steps was at the door. “Y’know,” she said, pausing with her hand on the knob. “I really thought you could help. Sorry about the ninja thing.”
“No worries,” I said. I whacked my flail against the stainless steel counter. It made an amazingly satisfying thud and left three disturbingly Ken-shaped dents.
“You’re not going to stop me?”
“Nope.”
“Seriously?” She turned, hands on her hips. “You’re just going to let me walk out alone to face unknown peril by myself. And here I thought we had something.”
“Everytime we’ve met I ended up unconscious and/or shot. That’s not really a stable base for a relationship. Besides, we might meet again. I’m only 50% certain that door is trapped.”
“Trapped?”
“Yep.” I zipped up my fly, as I had previously forgotten to do so. “Like I said, we did that last time. If I were a ninja or a mime, I’d put a claymore or four on the next back door.”
The Dame glanced at the door, an eyebrow raised. “That does make a certain sense.”
“So today,” I said. “This nerd’s going out the front.”
“With a flail made out of Ken dolls.”
I grinned. “It’s all about the style.” I walked over to the door to the dining room, flail in my right hand, my left ready to push the door open. “You coming?” I asked, without turning around.
There was a clicking of heels and then the click of a hammer being pulled back. This was followed by the rapid clicking of one of those ball banging thingies people put on their desks, but that’s immaterial.
“On three?” the Dame asked, from close behind.
“How ‘bout one?” I said, as I pushed through the door and leapt into the room.
Next: Le Fin.
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
The Best Side: Part 5
“I hope it’s a good secret,” the Dame said. “As in ‘fully automatic with lots of ammo.’”
“Better.”
An eyebrow went up. “I’m intrigued.” There was a slight pause. “What are you grinning about?”
“Well,” I began. “It’s just that you’re the first woman to be intrigued by something in my pants in a long time.”
The Dame rubbed her temple and sighed. “If we weren’t in danger, I’d shoot you.”
“Well, that’s nice to know,” I said. “As our friends are getting ready to rumble.”
The Dame looked left and right. The mimes were already up and pretending that a wind was pushing them towards the buffet, while the ninjas were flourishing their shinobi katana and adjusting their masks.
The Dame started to rise, her .38 clutched tightly in her right hand. “I thought you said they had to go potty first.”
“Well,” I began, as I stood and walked around to her side of the table. “Ninjas never go potty and the mimes just pretended they did.”
“Ninjas don’t go potty?” she asked, her eyes darting back and forth between the mimes and ninjas.
“Have you ever seen a ninja in a bathroom?”
“No.” She glanced over at me, as I held out my hand. “What are you doing?”
“Getting us out of the decapitation zone.”
On cue, the music, a reggae version of ‘Better Be Home Soon,’ the 1988 Crowded House single ended and a metal version of ‘Eidelweisse’ commenced.
I took the Dame’s hand and despite my stiff leg, waltzed her out of the dining room and into the kitchen. We went right by the mimes, one of whom stepped back and let us pass.
I let go after a last twirl and glanced around. Iggy’s kitchen was empty, save for the usual assortment of stoves, pots, goat heads, wind instruments, and rusty bone saws.
The Dame was staring at me. “What the hell just happened?” she finally asked.
“I got us out of there,” I said, as I opened a cupboard at random. It made the Wilhelm Scream, so I opened and shut it a couple times, until the Dame cocked her pistol by my head.
“First,” she began. “Stop that. Second, why the hell didn’t they try to kill us?”
“It would be rude to attack someone waltzing,” I said, as I pawed through the chainsaw drawer. “Oh, it’s fine to gut somebody during a foxtrot, but never a waltz.”
The Dame stared at me, her arms folded. One of the doves landed on her shoulder, but she didn’t appear to notice. “Your world,” she finally said, “is just weird.”
“Thanks.”
“That wasn’t a compliment. And what are you looking for?”
“Nothing, really,” I replied, shutting a drawer full of glass eyes. “I was just waiting for the numbers to thin out there.”
“Can’t we just leave through the back door?” she asked, pointing at the back door.
“Nah, we did that last time.” I undid my belt and started to unzip my pants.
“What the hell are you doing?” the Dame almost shrieked, spinning around.
“Getting out my secret,” I said. There was a clang as a crowbar fell to the kitchen floor.
The Dame glanced over her shoulder and raised an eyebrow. “A crowbar?"
“That’s not it.” I said. “That’s just in case I find any crates or headcrabs.” A set of jumper cables joined the crowbar on the floor. “I always carry some,” I explained. “And here we go.”
The Dame stared, as did the dove, which pooped on her shoulder. The Dame didn’t notice.
“I take it back,” she finally said. “You’re not clever or stupid. You’re just nuts.”
Next: Part 6
“Better.”
An eyebrow went up. “I’m intrigued.” There was a slight pause. “What are you grinning about?”
“Well,” I began. “It’s just that you’re the first woman to be intrigued by something in my pants in a long time.”
The Dame rubbed her temple and sighed. “If we weren’t in danger, I’d shoot you.”
“Well, that’s nice to know,” I said. “As our friends are getting ready to rumble.”
The Dame looked left and right. The mimes were already up and pretending that a wind was pushing them towards the buffet, while the ninjas were flourishing their shinobi katana and adjusting their masks.
The Dame started to rise, her .38 clutched tightly in her right hand. “I thought you said they had to go potty first.”
“Well,” I began, as I stood and walked around to her side of the table. “Ninjas never go potty and the mimes just pretended they did.”
“Ninjas don’t go potty?” she asked, her eyes darting back and forth between the mimes and ninjas.
“Have you ever seen a ninja in a bathroom?”
“No.” She glanced over at me, as I held out my hand. “What are you doing?”
“Getting us out of the decapitation zone.”
On cue, the music, a reggae version of ‘Better Be Home Soon,’ the 1988 Crowded House single ended and a metal version of ‘Eidelweisse’ commenced.
I took the Dame’s hand and despite my stiff leg, waltzed her out of the dining room and into the kitchen. We went right by the mimes, one of whom stepped back and let us pass.
I let go after a last twirl and glanced around. Iggy’s kitchen was empty, save for the usual assortment of stoves, pots, goat heads, wind instruments, and rusty bone saws.
The Dame was staring at me. “What the hell just happened?” she finally asked.
“I got us out of there,” I said, as I opened a cupboard at random. It made the Wilhelm Scream, so I opened and shut it a couple times, until the Dame cocked her pistol by my head.
“First,” she began. “Stop that. Second, why the hell didn’t they try to kill us?”
“It would be rude to attack someone waltzing,” I said, as I pawed through the chainsaw drawer. “Oh, it’s fine to gut somebody during a foxtrot, but never a waltz.”
The Dame stared at me, her arms folded. One of the doves landed on her shoulder, but she didn’t appear to notice. “Your world,” she finally said, “is just weird.”
“Thanks.”
“That wasn’t a compliment. And what are you looking for?”
“Nothing, really,” I replied, shutting a drawer full of glass eyes. “I was just waiting for the numbers to thin out there.”
“Can’t we just leave through the back door?” she asked, pointing at the back door.
“Nah, we did that last time.” I undid my belt and started to unzip my pants.
“What the hell are you doing?” the Dame almost shrieked, spinning around.
“Getting out my secret,” I said. There was a clang as a crowbar fell to the kitchen floor.
The Dame glanced over her shoulder and raised an eyebrow. “A crowbar?"
“That’s not it.” I said. “That’s just in case I find any crates or headcrabs.” A set of jumper cables joined the crowbar on the floor. “I always carry some,” I explained. “And here we go.”
The Dame stared, as did the dove, which pooped on her shoulder. The Dame didn’t notice.
“I take it back,” she finally said. “You’re not clever or stupid. You’re just nuts.”
Next: Part 6
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
The Best Side: Part 4
It was my turn to pause. “No,” I finally said. “I honestly never thought about it.”
“And back to stupid,” the Dame said, letting go of my arm. “I have information. You have a strange, almost Buster Keaton-ish ability to survive. If you can protect me until the war ends, I’ll tell you why the ninjas have been after you all these years.
I eased back down into the chair, keeping my left leg out straight to the side. “Give me a hint.”
She nodded and after a quick glance around, leaned forward. “Fresno,” she said quietly, barely above a whisper.
“Fresno,” I said, in one long breath. The world slowed and faded. A petite girl in black was looking over her shoulder at me. There was a hat made of paper. I staggered away from a field, my vision blurring as I looked down at my red stained hands. A grape was squashed in slow motion. In the distance, a cow farted.
A sudden shock of cold brought me back to Iggy’s. The Dame had an empty water glass and I was soaking wet, ice-cubes in my lap.
“I really, really hate flashbacks,” she said.
“Well,” I said, as I flicked ice-cubes off my trousers, “at least you didn’t shoot me this time.”
“I didn’t want to cripple your other leg.”
“Oh, my leg’s fine.”
“Then why are you walking like a geriatric peanut salesman?”
“It’s a secret,” I said. “And I completely don’t get the analogy.”
She shrugged. “Lots of shells. So, do we have a deal?”
“I don’t know. Fre- that place has a lot of ghosts. And raisins,” I added. “Besides, despite my ability to survive, we may not last the next ten minutes.”
“Why is that?”
“The ninjas are finished and the mimes are pretending to sharpen knives. Once everyone goes potty, it’s going to get dangerous.”
The Dame glanced around. The lone waitress was nowhere to be seen, though a small bucket of dead flies had been left behind. The doves started to fly back out of the kitchen, then realized that they were early and flew back in.
“There’s only seven of them,” she said. “Hell, we could just let them fight it out and then shoot the winners.”
“Not a bad plan,” I replied. “Except that there’s about 30 ninjas outside hiding in the shrubbery and about the same number of mimes in a tour bus out front.”
“And how do you know this?”
I tapped my head. “Sometimes clever, remember? My dad told me to never go into a buffet without a good recon.”
The Dame took a deep breath. “So we’re boned,” she said. “Guess I could’ve kept smoking after all.”
“Not necessarily.”
She frowned at me and I tapped my left leg. There was a metallic ‘ping.’
“I’ve got a secret.”
Next: Part 5
“And back to stupid,” the Dame said, letting go of my arm. “I have information. You have a strange, almost Buster Keaton-ish ability to survive. If you can protect me until the war ends, I’ll tell you why the ninjas have been after you all these years.
I eased back down into the chair, keeping my left leg out straight to the side. “Give me a hint.”
She nodded and after a quick glance around, leaned forward. “Fresno,” she said quietly, barely above a whisper.
“Fresno,” I said, in one long breath. The world slowed and faded. A petite girl in black was looking over her shoulder at me. There was a hat made of paper. I staggered away from a field, my vision blurring as I looked down at my red stained hands. A grape was squashed in slow motion. In the distance, a cow farted.
A sudden shock of cold brought me back to Iggy’s. The Dame had an empty water glass and I was soaking wet, ice-cubes in my lap.
“I really, really hate flashbacks,” she said.
“Well,” I said, as I flicked ice-cubes off my trousers, “at least you didn’t shoot me this time.”
“I didn’t want to cripple your other leg.”
“Oh, my leg’s fine.”
“Then why are you walking like a geriatric peanut salesman?”
“It’s a secret,” I said. “And I completely don’t get the analogy.”
She shrugged. “Lots of shells. So, do we have a deal?”
“I don’t know. Fre- that place has a lot of ghosts. And raisins,” I added. “Besides, despite my ability to survive, we may not last the next ten minutes.”
“Why is that?”
“The ninjas are finished and the mimes are pretending to sharpen knives. Once everyone goes potty, it’s going to get dangerous.”
The Dame glanced around. The lone waitress was nowhere to be seen, though a small bucket of dead flies had been left behind. The doves started to fly back out of the kitchen, then realized that they were early and flew back in.
“There’s only seven of them,” she said. “Hell, we could just let them fight it out and then shoot the winners.”
“Not a bad plan,” I replied. “Except that there’s about 30 ninjas outside hiding in the shrubbery and about the same number of mimes in a tour bus out front.”
“And how do you know this?”
I tapped my head. “Sometimes clever, remember? My dad told me to never go into a buffet without a good recon.”
The Dame took a deep breath. “So we’re boned,” she said. “Guess I could’ve kept smoking after all.”
“Not necessarily.”
She frowned at me and I tapped my left leg. There was a metallic ‘ping.’
“I’ve got a secret.”
Next: Part 5
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
The Best Side: Part 3
The Dame tapped her fingers on the faux plastic tabletop. “Like I said, either very clever or really stupid.”
“So, what do you want?” I asked.
At the buffet, the two men paused at the pizza counter, both reaching for the last slice of Hawaiian. The taller of the two grabbed at the slice, but the shorter man deftly snaked it from him. However, before he could get it onto his plate, the other man knocked the slice into the air, intent on catching it with his other hand. Yet the shorter man ricocheted it away with a slice of vegetarian.
This strange ballet continued for several minutes, as the two men whirled and spun around the pizza bar, neither able to grab the slice for themselves as the other always countered. Neither made a sound, though their actions were scored by a light jazz ensemble that just happened by.
Unfortunately, I missed all of this, as I was intent on the Dame. She sighed. “I need your help.”
“Why? You’ve got connections with the clowns.”
“That’s just it,” she said, looking me straight in the eye. “They’re losing.”
“You’re kidding.”
She shook her head. “Normally, they wouldn’t have a problem with the mimes and ninjas, but there was an attempted coup. The Mountebank turned on the Harlequin and a surprising number of clowns followed him.”
“Whoa,” I said, raising a hand. “Who’s the Mountebank?”
The pizza ballet ended then, as another Hawaiian pie was added to the pizza bar. The two men, both panting, stared first at it and then at each other. Then, the shorter of the two, with a slight bow, indicated that the other should go first. The taller man slid two pieces onto a plate, then offered it to the other, who accepted with another bow. They parted, each flipping a few dollars into the jazz ensemble’s open guitar case.
“Traditionally, he’s the clown’s enforcer, but he decided he wanted the mask himself and took a shot at the top. The clowns are in chaos. They don’t know which way the pie’s pointing and as a result, the mimes and ninjas are having a field day.”
“Ah, that would explain it.”
“Explain what?”
I nodded towards the far corner. “Those are mimes and the guys on the other side are ninjas.”
The Dame froze and the barely audible click of a gun cocking was heard under the table. This was followed by a duck’s quack from the kitchen. It is unlikely the two are related. “How do you know?”
“Well, the mimes have been eating invisible food the whole time and one of the ninjas is using chopsticks on his mashed potatoes.”
“I guess you are very clever,” she finally said.
“And you led them to me,” I pointed out. “I was just beginning to unwind,” I continued. “I haven’t found a cobra in my bed in ages and the only mail bombs I get are the ones I send myself.”
“Why would you send yourself a mail bomb?”
“For the same reason I floss between my toes.”
The Dame stared at me. “I’m not going to bother asking.”
“Good.” I stood up stiffly. “So thanks for nothing. I’ll be on my way now.”
“Wait!” The Dame reached across the table and grabbed my arm.
“Do you know what happened to the last woman who touched me?”
“No.”
“Me neither. We were supposed to meet in the food court at 7, but she never showed. I’ve always wondered about that.”
The Dame rolled her eyes. “Let’s leave your hygiene out of this. I’ve got information. If you can help me, I’ll tell you everything.”
“Like what? And if it’s where my remote is, don’t worry about it.”
She shook her head. “Would you like to know why the ninjas are after you?”
Next: Part 4
“So, what do you want?” I asked.
At the buffet, the two men paused at the pizza counter, both reaching for the last slice of Hawaiian. The taller of the two grabbed at the slice, but the shorter man deftly snaked it from him. However, before he could get it onto his plate, the other man knocked the slice into the air, intent on catching it with his other hand. Yet the shorter man ricocheted it away with a slice of vegetarian.
This strange ballet continued for several minutes, as the two men whirled and spun around the pizza bar, neither able to grab the slice for themselves as the other always countered. Neither made a sound, though their actions were scored by a light jazz ensemble that just happened by.
Unfortunately, I missed all of this, as I was intent on the Dame. She sighed. “I need your help.”
“Why? You’ve got connections with the clowns.”
“That’s just it,” she said, looking me straight in the eye. “They’re losing.”
“You’re kidding.”
She shook her head. “Normally, they wouldn’t have a problem with the mimes and ninjas, but there was an attempted coup. The Mountebank turned on the Harlequin and a surprising number of clowns followed him.”
“Whoa,” I said, raising a hand. “Who’s the Mountebank?”
The pizza ballet ended then, as another Hawaiian pie was added to the pizza bar. The two men, both panting, stared first at it and then at each other. Then, the shorter of the two, with a slight bow, indicated that the other should go first. The taller man slid two pieces onto a plate, then offered it to the other, who accepted with another bow. They parted, each flipping a few dollars into the jazz ensemble’s open guitar case.
“Traditionally, he’s the clown’s enforcer, but he decided he wanted the mask himself and took a shot at the top. The clowns are in chaos. They don’t know which way the pie’s pointing and as a result, the mimes and ninjas are having a field day.”
“Ah, that would explain it.”
“Explain what?”
I nodded towards the far corner. “Those are mimes and the guys on the other side are ninjas.”
The Dame froze and the barely audible click of a gun cocking was heard under the table. This was followed by a duck’s quack from the kitchen. It is unlikely the two are related. “How do you know?”
“Well, the mimes have been eating invisible food the whole time and one of the ninjas is using chopsticks on his mashed potatoes.”
“I guess you are very clever,” she finally said.
“And you led them to me,” I pointed out. “I was just beginning to unwind,” I continued. “I haven’t found a cobra in my bed in ages and the only mail bombs I get are the ones I send myself.”
“Why would you send yourself a mail bomb?”
“For the same reason I floss between my toes.”
The Dame stared at me. “I’m not going to bother asking.”
“Good.” I stood up stiffly. “So thanks for nothing. I’ll be on my way now.”
“Wait!” The Dame reached across the table and grabbed my arm.
“Do you know what happened to the last woman who touched me?”
“No.”
“Me neither. We were supposed to meet in the food court at 7, but she never showed. I’ve always wondered about that.”
The Dame rolled her eyes. “Let’s leave your hygiene out of this. I’ve got information. If you can help me, I’ll tell you everything.”
“Like what? And if it’s where my remote is, don’t worry about it.”
She shook her head. “Would you like to know why the ninjas are after you?”
Next: Part 4
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
The Best Side: Part 2
The Dame glanced around. “I’m not familiar with John Woo movies.”
“Have you ever leapt sideways in slow-motion while firing two pistols?”
“No. Would it help if I had?”
“Actually, yes.” I took a deep breath, which was a mistake as the air tasted like bad pizza. “John Woo movies are usually about two men on opposite sides of a struggle who earn each other’s respect and friendship. Oh, and they just happen to be absolute baddasses.” I nodded towards the kitchen, where the sound of doves pooping could be heard. “Slow motion doves are one of his trademarks.”
“I see.” The Dame fished around in her pocket and took out three screwdrivers, a socket wrench and a baggie of cubed ice, before finding a crushed pack of cigarettes.
“I thought you were quitting,” I asked, as she pulled one out.
“I am.” The cigarette trembled slightly as she raised it to her lips. She sighed. “Do you have a light?”
I pulled a rather nice desk lamp from my coat and set it on the table.
“Funny.”
“Not terribly,” I said, as I reached over and plucked the cigarette away. “Now,” I began, as I tossed the cigarette over my shoulder, not noticing that it stuck in the wall. “Why don’t you tell me what’s really going on.”
She looked away. “What do you mean?”
“You’re not your usual self. And,” I said, pausing for dramatic effect, “there’s this.” I slapped the note onto the table, inadvertently flipping a spoon across the room. I didn’t notice the looks the other patrons gave me, as the spoon clattered and rattled on the tile floor.
She leaned forward and looked at the note. “A parking lot receipt from 1989?”
“Turn it around.”
“Now it looks like a pirate knitting.”
I looked down and turned the note towards me. It did look like a pirate knitting. “Wrong note,” I said, this time checking before I slammed down a pink post-it note.
“That’s the note that was on your computer monitor.”
“And what’s wrong with it?”
The Dame shrugged. One of the men from behind us got up and walked past towards the buffet. He made no noise. Simultaneously, one of the men from the other group also rose and headed towards the buffet. He also made no sound.
“There’s no harlequin picture,” I said, leaning back with a smile. “This isn’t official clown business.”
Next: Part 3
“Have you ever leapt sideways in slow-motion while firing two pistols?”
“No. Would it help if I had?”
“Actually, yes.” I took a deep breath, which was a mistake as the air tasted like bad pizza. “John Woo movies are usually about two men on opposite sides of a struggle who earn each other’s respect and friendship. Oh, and they just happen to be absolute baddasses.” I nodded towards the kitchen, where the sound of doves pooping could be heard. “Slow motion doves are one of his trademarks.”
“I see.” The Dame fished around in her pocket and took out three screwdrivers, a socket wrench and a baggie of cubed ice, before finding a crushed pack of cigarettes.
“I thought you were quitting,” I asked, as she pulled one out.
“I am.” The cigarette trembled slightly as she raised it to her lips. She sighed. “Do you have a light?”
I pulled a rather nice desk lamp from my coat and set it on the table.
“Funny.”
“Not terribly,” I said, as I reached over and plucked the cigarette away. “Now,” I began, as I tossed the cigarette over my shoulder, not noticing that it stuck in the wall. “Why don’t you tell me what’s really going on.”
She looked away. “What do you mean?”
“You’re not your usual self. And,” I said, pausing for dramatic effect, “there’s this.” I slapped the note onto the table, inadvertently flipping a spoon across the room. I didn’t notice the looks the other patrons gave me, as the spoon clattered and rattled on the tile floor.
She leaned forward and looked at the note. “A parking lot receipt from 1989?”
“Turn it around.”
“Now it looks like a pirate knitting.”
I looked down and turned the note towards me. It did look like a pirate knitting. “Wrong note,” I said, this time checking before I slammed down a pink post-it note.
“That’s the note that was on your computer monitor.”
“And what’s wrong with it?”
The Dame shrugged. One of the men from behind us got up and walked past towards the buffet. He made no noise. Simultaneously, one of the men from the other group also rose and headed towards the buffet. He also made no sound.
“There’s no harlequin picture,” I said, leaning back with a smile. “This isn’t official clown business.”
Next: Part 3
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