|The Story||The Authors|
"Naw — negat-o-ree awn that one, since ah kin hawdly be hangen awn
the wahl lahk sum common trophy an be heah at the same tahm. Therefoah,
ah am fawssed to con-cuh-lude that you, Suh, are none other than
that two-bit, thieving vawmint who tricked me with false rectitude
and a most unChristian Nawk-nawk joke somewhey-yuh back in the wil-duh-ness.
Leaving me no recawss but to repay you in a lahk manner. Therefoah,
Suh, I ask you: 'Nawk, nawk!'" |
"Who's there," replied Jake, unsure...
"Lookahht," drawled the boar, very obviously relishing the game. |
"Lookout who?" said Roger, now very starting to feel bad about things...
"Lookaht you, Suh, because ah declay-ah, it's Butt-Whuppin' Tahm!" With which pronouncement the boar was upon him.
The sprinkling sound of fairy-dust announced the manifestation of
Things One and Two: |
We warned you once
— and produced seltzer bottles from up their sleeves and commenced spraying Jake with seltzer in between the seismic head-butts and tuskings of the enraged boar.
But it wasn't really Jake they were attacking, his story was long
over with. It was Roger. Roger soon lost his balance and tumbled
off the ledge into the seemingly bottomless chasm. "What did I ever
do to deserve this?" Roger called as he fell. He fell for a very
long time and he was sure that he was good as dead. He looked down
and he could see the chasm floor speeding towards him. He squeezed
his eyes shut against his impending doom but then he stopped falling.
Jake opened his eyes, wondering if he had expired and knew that
he hadn't when he saw Pope John Paul Georgeandringo II in his disembodied
head form. |
"Roger," the Pope said in his best booming voice. "You fucked up!"
Inside the disembodied Pope-head machine, perched nimbled atop the driver's seat, the Cat in the Hat paused for a moment to chuckle to himself. The chiding bits always were his favorite part. He pushed the button marked Stern, Threatening Voice (Variant B) and began to speak into the microphone:
"Roger Weaver! Look around you. What do you see?"
Roger looked around himself. "Shipwrecks," he said. "Junk." He looked around more. "Skeletons in dime-store pirate costumes." He strained his eyes. "The Yellow Submarine. A jockstrap, pee-yoo! Words scribbled on a page, lets' see: 'Cheer up sleepy Jean oh what can it mean to a daydream believer and a homecoming queen...' Kinda catchy. And what's this? A photograph of Marsha Brady." He looked back at the Pope. "Then this can only be —"
"Correctamente," said the suit. "Davey Jones' locker."
"Nooooooooooooooooooooo!" howled Roger. "I wanna go hooooooooooooooooome!"
"Then you must first finish what you have started out. You pathetic, blubbering candy-ass. Unless, of course, you'd like to stay here. It's clammy, dark, full of all the blind albino cave-fish you'd ever care to subsist on,a nd there are absolutely no women! Not even mermaids. So. Whatta you say, Rog?"
|"What do I say?" screamed Roger. "What do I say? This!" and in a moment of temporary insanity, he pulled the revolver from its holster and began to shoot at the bobbing pope-head. He had exceptionally bad aim today and his shots ricocheted off the cave walls and missed the Cat in the Hat completly. The pope-head vanished into the stale air, leaving nothing but an echoing cackle behind. The sound of the gun shots reverberated, however, shaking the air waves and then the ground. Rocks and other debris began to fall all around Roger, bouncing on the slimey floor of the chasm like hail stones. The ground began to tear open and hot lava crawled out. Roger began to run|