PARTS NINE TO TWELVE

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PART IX

‘PICNIC AT GA CASTLE’

HOLY PINK FLESH BATMAN!

The room was filled with the calls of the men. They looked under tables, in cupboards, under the bar, inside the barman, out the window and every crevice in the room.

They daintily stepped through the adjoining rooms in their beautiful skirts softly calling her name.

"Igor, Igor. Where are you?" but there was no reply.

Everyone found it odd that she had disappeared like that and could offer no solution to the problem. They all found it odd that al had almost got laid. They all found the man with the pony tail, who bared a remarkable resemblance to Steven Segal, quite bizarre. They even were confused by the apparently cheap and easily obtained liquor that this bar offered (has it been mentioned that the legal drinking age on ga is 35). And finally someone found it strange that they were all wearing such beautiful skirts.

"Hey, why are we wearing skirts?" one of them called out.

Daisy ignored this and turned to al.

"Where the hell is she then?" Daisy was noticeably irritable.

"Why do you care so much?" al inquired.

"I don’t it is just that she is part of the group now. And we look after each other."

"Yeah I am sure that is it."

Igor had not been seen after Al and her had slipped through the silk curtains at the side of the bar four hours earlier.

The Coat stand was still there, but al had not mentioned it as he was embarrassed by the whole episode. If they knew that he had been making out with a pole . . .

"So you turned around and she wasn’t there? Is that right?"

"Yeah I think that is how it happened."

The curtains were open and al glanced guiltily at it. Daisy noticed this and responded accordingly.

"What’s going on here? Has this got something to do with that coat stand? Did you kill Igor with that coat STAND? What did you do with her body then?"

"What was the first question?"

"Did you kill her?"

"That wasn’t the first question."

Daisy breathed deeply at al.

"No I didn’t kill her. We were there together and all of a sudden she was gone and I was holding that coat stand."

"so she turned into a coat stand?"

"ah, I guess so. I didn’t even consider that to be a possibility."

Daisy rushed over to the wooden stand and stood it up.

"who could have done this?"

everyone looked around the room at each other, then all looked at al and then at daisy, then at the coat stand, the barman, a bottle of whisky at the bar, after they had all considered drinking the whisky they looked at the curtains, then at anvil falls on coyote who lay on the floor with a fresh anvil on his head. At last they shifted their glance to the man with the ponytail who stood at the back of the bar, looking like Steven Segal.

He looked up, noticing that he was now the centre of attention.

"yes?"

everyone stood still. Except for anvil falls on coyote who lay still. But then he moved, shifting the anvil. He stood and raised a finger. "hey I know you, you’re that guy who . . ." that was as far as he got. His sentence was prevented from further developing by the anvil that struck his head.

Once again everyone stood still, except for anvil falls on coyote who once again lay still.

"I know you," daisy began, quickly checking the space above his head. "you’re that guy who put that curse on coyote."

The crowd shuffled a bit.

"lets get him!" daisy cried and they all rushed at him, brandishing bottles, newspapers, chairs, coat stands and cutlery.

"Die Swirly the nec!"

and indeed swirly the nec did die, from the many wounds inflicted upon him by the mob. Though in the end the cause of his death can directly attributed to a paper napkin delivered with deadly force to the abdomen by a man in the group known as cicci *.

"shit, we have wasted so much time. That necromancer put a spell on us and we forgot what we were doing."

"my skirt!" a voice called out.

The others looked down and noticed that the skirts had disappeared. In their place was nothing. They all were very much naked.

They all very much shrieked in horror.

Al shrieked again as he realised that he now had in his grasp Igor, where the coat stand had been.

"oh, igor."

"ahh!" igor cried in alarm. "I don’t think so, I was drunk before. Being wooden certainly sobers you up."

Everyone cheered except for al, who realised that there would be no sex tonight despite his being naked, and anvil falls on coyote, who lay still on the floor.

"Now lets go get Didi!" daisy screamed, raising his hands in a victorious pose. He quickly put his hands down again to hide his shame.

"we’re all naked," someone said in the background. "Well this could get interesting."

*Cicci is pronounced cheechy. He has a complex background and is known for his impressive routine in which he cracks almond nuts with his thighs.

Coming soon: part x

Will the fascists achieve their goal and conquer Didi?

Will al get lucky?

The answers will be in the next part of the wildly exciting and frequently erotic alchronicles

Guru al hereby proclaims his allegiance to the yFalminican republic. Rule yFalminica!

A production in association with guru inc. ™©® and hencom ©™®

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Part X

"Sex", someone called out.

"Hot, passionate, orgasmic, sticky sex!"

"What’s going on back there?" Daisy inquired.

Everyone was still naked, except for Igor who retained her virtue by using some anvils as substitutes for her missing clothing. They were awkward to carry, but she was damned if any man here was going to see her naked without paying first.

"Some of them seem to have gone mad. Perhaps we should find clothes."

"This looks like the place." Al said.

"You don’t do it like that, let me show you," Igor said.

"Thankyou, but I think I know how to open a door."

Suddenly Al remembered that they were all naked. Coincidentally the others noticed this at the same time.

They recoiled in horror. "Ah yes that certainly is a tough door.," Al remarked in a suitably deep, masculine voice.

"Yes, indeed," agreed Daisy. "A tough door for tough, heterosexual men."

"Nothing wrong with being naked is there. Just healthy, friendly men being jolly chummy."

They all felt awkward. Each shuffled his feet nervously. "Well, clothes then." Al reminded them.

"Ah, excuse me. Would you mind opening?"

Al approached the group that stood around the door. "No, use reverse psychology," he suggested.

"Ok door, don’t open. I don’t care. In fact I wish that you didn’t open." There was no response. "I bet you couldn’t open if you tried."

"Come on, what ever they are paying you I can pay double." Daisy advised.

"What’s wrong with this door? It must have some severe personal problems," said Cicci.

"That’s it I am warning you. Open now or you are going to get it. I will not be merciful. I will have you watch an entire live concert of Hanson. Then I will play their cd endlessly and I will also serve you an unhealthy dose of the backstreet boys."

"Oh my god, look at this!" Igor cried.

"What?" the crowd replied.

"This little sign. It says ‘push’."

"What could that mean?"

The cogs turned again.

"Let me try!" Al gallantly marched through the centre of the crowd, grasped the knob, turned it, and pushed the door.

Certainly it was. It swung back on its hinges. And Al stood there victorious.

"Hooray for Al!" they all cheered.

Al sighed. "Women’s clothing again. I suppose it will have to do."

"I have no problem with it," said Cicci as he slipped on a frilly black skirt with a white blouse speckled with tiny yellow flowers.

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Part xi

Cross the road? (answer will be forthcoming)

The troop approached a door labelled ‘the lair of the queen’.

"Convenient," Al commented.

"Yes," agreed Daisy. "So this is what we do. We bash down the door. Then we separate into four groups. The first group kills Didi, the second goes for Pale Scalp and the third and fourth finishes off any of the guards that there may be."

"Prepare yourself everyone!" Al advised and hitched up his skirt.

P.S. was less concerned. "He’ll show up. I am sure," he paused in order to brush a large piece of flaky skin from his shirt. "that he is fine, probably toying with the fascists."

"Hopefully. Anyway, where did you get that chicken?" Didi asked.

"Good work, P.S."

"Damn fascists probably brought them with them."

The two sat, Didi playing solitaire with a pack of cards, P.S. stroking the chicken.

Didi turned a card, P.S. stroked the chicken, the chicken looked at its watch. How long had it been sitting there with this weirdo stroking it? Was it time to act? Yes it seemed so.

It stood up on Pale Scalp’s lap. He continued to stroke it. It turned its head around without moving its body. It gave Pale Scalp an evil look.

He shuddered, surprised at the actions of this seemingly innocent fowl. "What?" he inquired shortly before his eyes were violently pecked out.

"What’s wrong? Turn down the noise a bit."

"Gees, you’d think that your eyes were being pecked out by that chicken or something." She said without shifting her glance from the pack of cards.

"P.S., do you think I should get liposuction?" no response came.

"P.S.?" still nothing.

"Nor do I," agreed Igor.

"Damn, I hope it was me who killed them." Daisy said.

"No none of us moved. They were already wounded before we came in." Igor gave her analysis of the situation.

"Then who killed them?" Daisy queried.

"I didn’t kill them, Igor, you didn’t kill them, nor did you Al. Cicci?"

"Madonna?"

"No."

"Sadam?"

"No."

"Well who did then?"

"Well I am glad we have that cleared up," Al said. "We know now that the chicken killed them." Something seemed wrong about this.

"Chicken?" Daisy asked.

All the Gaese men in the room cowered in fear.

"Oh my god, it’s a chicken,’ they cried.

"It’ll kill us!"

"Why are they afraid of a chicken?" Igor asked.

"Oh, I remember now. The reason that Ga was built was to protect everyone against a chicken who had been loitering suspiciously in the forest."

"That’s ridiculous," observed Igor.

"Indeed it is,’ agreed the chicken. " In fact it is so colossally wrong that it pains me to call myself a chicken. You see, that chicken was I. I was the one who scared everyone apparently. The drunken fools somehow believed that I was evil."

"But that was two hundred years ago." Al reminded the chicken.

"Yes, I have been given a life sentence for crimes which I committed. Crimes for the good of the country I assure you. But they called it treason."

"Life sentence?" Al inquired.

"Yes, an immortal life sentence. They made me live on this damned planet for an eternity."

"Harsh." Thought Al.

"Anyway, as I was saying, I killed these bastards. I have waited for the right time, I have been here on this island for six months waiting, waiting. It was a tough assignment, let me tell you. These are not the nicest people to come across. That Pale Scalp, he was just too intimate, if you get what I mean." The crowd cringed, getting what he meant. "I have been striving for the maintenance of good on this planet for six thousand years. I decided that I should make something good of my time instead of just being spiteful all the time."

"Good idea," Daisy said, starting to relax. He built up the courage to move past the chicken and stand next to the bodies of his foes.

"So my job here is done. I will be going. I am still looking for a way to kill myself. I don’t think it is possible." It reached the door and walked out. "See ya," it called.

"Wow, a chicken of extreme intelligence and wisdom. If only we could learn more from it."

The group was planning to search the castle for food. Al noticed that Daisy and A.F.O.C. were eating something.

"What do you have there?" he asked.

"Nothing,’ Daisy answered.

"No, what is it? Show me."

"No, it’s nothing."

"Show me. You’ve got food don’t you?"

"No, it’s nothing, trust me."

"What is it. Show me."

The two wrestled as Daisy kept what ever it was that he had wrapped in his arms.

"Give it to me."

"What’s wrong Al? Igor didn’t give you any so you’re going after Daisy." Cicci laughed.

"No he has some food. So does anvil falls on coyote. Give it to me."

"Oh, my God. You didn’t!"

"Is that . . . ?"

"Yes it is."

"It’s the . . . isn’t it?"

"What is it Al?," Igor asked.

"They’ve eaten the chicken!" he screamed.

"Let me in, I am a woman. I am weak. If I don’t get fed I die easier." Igor shoved her way through the mob.

"You people disgust me. Have you learnt nothing! This was a supreme being! It had a marvellous intellect! It was the most intelligent chicken I have ever met!"

"It said it wanted to die didn’t it?"

"Yes, but . . . what the hell! Give me some."

Fin

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Part xii

‘Six Degrees of Anachronism’

And for the convenience of an exciting story, it came to pass that the band of fascists went back in time, as a result of the almighty and powerful chicken’s last act of vengeance on those who had eaten it.

Al cried with alarm. "my afro, where has my afro gone?" his hair was now in a frightful eighties style.*.

*of course what should be noted here is that the eighties did not exist in this past time that the group had landed in, nor did it exist in their real world yet, as they lived in the seventies still. But Al can be correctly credited with being a pioneer of sorts, in being the first to have this dreadful style. others unfortunately imitated him.

"Shit!" what the hell happened?" Daisy cried.

"Well by my calculations we have travelled back in time approximately six thousand years." Igor explained.

"How do you know this?" Daisy asked, impressed.

"Well, I just sort of read this post-it note stuck on Al’s back," she admitted.

"What’s on my back? Get it off."

"Hey look, it also says kick me," A.F.O.C. observed.

The bunch amused themselves with this, to the great discomfort of Al.

"Ow! Stop that! So immature!"

They grew tired of the game soon and studied their surroundings.

They were in the middle of a village it seemed, an Indian village.

Tepees were the general give away. But the indian which presently walked passed them supported the theory remarkably.

"Hey," he said.

"That was an Indian, I think," Al said.

"I am inclined to agree," Igor said.

"So we are in the Americas it seems. North or south?" Al asked.

Igor surveyed the land. "It looks like the north to me. I wonder what tribe it is."

They puzzled over this and didn’t realise that the indian who had previously passed them was returning.

"Hey," he said again. "How are you going. Shitter of a day isn’t it? Never stops fucking raining round here."

Their jaws were resting rather uncomfortably on the sandy ground. "So, you don’t look like you’re from around here. Where you from?"

Quickly they collected their jaws and Al prepared himself to respond.

"Spou yeak lisheng?"

"Oh, you don’t speak english then. Oh well." The indian shrugged and walked away.

Al tried again "You speak english?"

"Yes, for the convenience of this story."

"Good, could you tell us where we are, who you are and where we can find a good hotdog around here."

"We call the land Eggnog, we are the Fat-Thigh tribe and I am Chafes-A-Lot, and Screws-With-Llamas makes a mean chilly dog."

"Thanks." Al said, his mouth watering.

"So where are you from? That looks like an eighties ‘do you got there."

"What? How did you . . . ah don’t worry. We are from the future, about six thousand years."

"Groovy."

Chafes-A-Lot led them to a large tepee in the centre of the camp. They could hear a lot of noise inside. When they got to the entrance they listened.

"No, I haven’t mastered this track yet. The others are easy but this one . . ." there was at least two people inside, as someone else responded to this.

"Yeah, the corners are really tricky."

Chafes-A-Lot smiled, "New play station," he explained.

"Play what?" Daisy inquired.

"Gees you guys are pretty far behind for people six thousand years from the future."

"But . . ." Al began.

"Come on we can go inside now."

What would be inside?

Answer in part xiii

A production by Guru inc. ™®©

In association with Hencom ®™©

And yFalminican united press ™®©

©1998

fin

Also available by Guru Al in the Alchronicles:

part one: the wonder years, or back off Kevin arnold, this is my show.

Part two: 1974: a desert odyssey, or spank the sybarite

Part three: the brownish-reddish grounds of home, or dem bones, dem bones, dem bones, dem dry bones

Part four: fowl wars, or why it isn’t wise to get on the wrong side of an eskimo

Part five: my life in pink, or painting the town red

Part six: in the name of the garter, or I see a dainty kumquat

Part seven: the last of the commies, or when the hell will people realise that leonardo dicaprio looks like a foetus, so that he may disappear of the cover of magazines

Part eight: fraternity of the dead, or I spent my last penny on a packet of gum

Part nine: picnic at ga castle, or holy pink flesh batman

Part ten: close encounters of the r-rated kind, or write your own &%#?@^* titles

Part eleven: the dieing game, or why did the chicken cross the road

Sure it is a bit of a downer. But it is certainly better than the conventional answer. You know, the one about getting to the other side.

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Last updated: 02/07/00