My Left Kidney

Or

I Know! What? You did?

As your storyteller it is my job to guide the tale in the right direction. Right now, I can see two clear paths. One goes straight ahead and maintains the story at a constant, normal rate, never straying from the original plot. The other path goes off to the right and is a twisting, dusty road, which joins up later with the original trail. This path provides wild plot twists, which leave the story bizarre and perhaps less predictable.

Where shall I take it?

Oh, I am sorry. Did I just give you the false impression that you had some control over the way this story goes?

Well you don’t! I will take it where I want! Guess which way I am going.

Daisy made the goodbye to his wife as passionate and fluid-involving as possible.

"Goodbye, my love."

"Ciao!" she said before closing the door of their hut. She then made an odd signal through the window to Magnio, the man next door.

"What could that mean?" Daisy thought.

He set out with his sheep, heading for the green pastures of northern Italy. Behind him his wife lay on her bed as Magnio quickly darted inside the hut, for a ‘visit’.

A week after Daisy had set out he had lost his sheep in a storm and was now roaming around aimlessly. He grasped his sore joints. The tattoos that had been placed on them didn’t seem to really help the pain at all, as that witch doctor had claimed they would. Last time he would trust a man with a horse glued to his face.

He had to find shelter before he could sleep, if he fell asleep in the cold . . .

As he scaled the mountain, looking for a cave, he bent down to pick up a metal object in the snow. As he was not looking, a rather perplexed looking goat slid down the mountain and collected him on its way down.

"Ba-a-ah!" The goat complained as the two came to a halt. It gave Daisy a brief lecture about mountain climbing in weather like this and then trotted off.

"Ahh!" Daisy had broken his ribs. He lay still not wanting to move . . .

3 YEARS LATER . . .

"Oh, Magnio! I think I need to be comforted again. I still miss my Daisy."

Magnio approached Daisy’s widow bravely. If there was such a job to do, he was the one to do it.

The two indulged in hot, carnal activities, with all the regular flesh-pressing and licking and such.

Just then Cicci knocked down the door. "Oooh!" he cried at the sight.

"Could you two knock it off for a day or two? You know, he has been gone for three years. Why do you keep pretending that you are screwing him for comfort?"

"I will always remain faithful to my Daisy!" she protested.

"Whatever! You better come now."

"I am working on that," Magnio said. "Give me a bit of time, I just started."

"No, I mean you should get up . . . I mean come out . . . no. Oh, just follow me!"

The three trotted along hurriedly. Magnio and Daisy’s wife were planning on getting back to the hut as quickly as possible.

They arrived at another hut; the bark designs on the walls were quite stunning. Cicci opened the door and let the other two in.

There sat a man, with a bad 80’s hairstyle, which he had copied off Guru Al, and next to him a woman in a short dress. The man had odd pixie ears, and a display of ragged teeth.

"This," Cicci began, "Is Igor. Remember Daisy told you about her? And this is her companion, Blinky."

"Ah, yes." She responded. "He told me so much about you, how you were devoted to the cause of fascism, whatever that is."

There was an awkward pause. "Well, we better go now," Magnio suggested.

"But, wait," Daisy’s wife began. "How could you be here?"

"Ah, that’s a long story."

A year after Igor and Blinky (whom we shall meet again in this tale) had left, Cicci fell into a deep depression. He was stuck in ancient Italy with no one that he liked, except his wife who offered him carnal pleasures, but no intellectual benefits.

Daisy, his friend was probably dead. Daisy’s wife (which was actually her name, have I not mentioned this. Daisy had her change it to Daisy’s wife as her real name was impossible to pronounce) was constantly having it off with Magnio and everyone else was going about seeing what would happen if they hit a certain rock against a bigger rock.

It was all quite dull.

Then Cicci discovered that the mad scientist, Blinky who Igor had been with had left behind a small bag. In it were the blueprints for a time machine. Cicci didn’t have any technology but he did have the bare essentials. So he got to work.

Long story short, he ended up in Italy, 1998.

NTM stared down at the corpse with great displeasure, Gamblor stood behind him eating a large chicken leg. Whoever the killer was, they did a messy, yet efficient job. He would now consider everyone a suspect.

"That’s the killer, there!" NTM screamed as Al approached.

The police grabbed Al.

"What the f#$k’s wrong with you, NTM?"

"Sorry, I am just a bit jumpy." He motioned for them to let him go.

"So has Cleo been released yet?"

"No, they have to be certain that this wasn’t just a copycat murder."

"Mmm, I suppose."

"Well," NTM started, suddenly smoking a pipe and wearing attire that bore a striking resemblance to those that the great detective Sherlock Homes once wore. "We do have some evidence."

"What?" Al inquired, doing his best impression of Columbo’s eery, false eye.

Somewhere in the background they could here the theme song from Murder She Wrote.

NTM carefully puffed on his pipe. "We know now that the killer has false eyebrows."

"How do we know that?"

"Well, OK we don’t actually know that. But it would make it interesting wouldn’t it?"

"Ah, yeah. But some real evidence would be nice," Gamblor suggested.

"Well there is this." NTM held up a small figurine of Joan of Arc, doing unspeakable things. "And this," he presented a small lute-playing gnome.

"Ah-ha . . ." Al commented.

"Oh, this too." NTM held up the huge book.

"What’s that?"

"This is a book written by the deceased. It details her involvement in the Red Movement."

"Say wha?"

"She was as red as a buttock on National Spanking Day."

"Heh?"

"She was with the Menace."

"Ih?"

"She had sympathies for Stalin."

"Squa?"

"She was a raving Drag Queen! No . . . wait a minute that’s me." NTM nervously laughed his way out of it. "Just a little joke to lighten it up of course. Heh, heh, heh. Well . . . actually Miss Hood was a COMMUNIST!"

"Argh!" Gamblor screamed. NTM and Al looked at him. "Sorry, I was just thinking that if someone doesn’t do something Friends may go for another two or three seasons!"

Al and NTM shuddered.

"So, the killer may be anti-Communist," NTM continued.

"No wait," Al said, "Cicci wasn’t a commie."

"Mmm, you have a point there. OK we have nothing to go on."

The ancient figure moved it’s limbs carefully. "Oy, what a headache!" he complained softly.

His skin was wrinkled terribly, resembling crinkled brown paper, and his limbs were twisted out of shape. He was sick of this lab-scene. He wanted out.

Slowly he was able to move his legs. So tired, so old. He made it to the front door of the elevator and hit the button for the ground floor. The lift was too quick for his liking.

On the ground floor, he passed by a security guard. "Hey, Mr. Man," the guard said.

"Hey," he breathed.

On the street he could not see any taxis, so he walked along for a bit. He passed several shops on the way. In one window he stopped to watch a TV. On it a video played, there were people trying to encourage him to do the Macarena. He tried, but his limbs would not allow it.

He hastily hailed a taxi. "Airport," he said curtly to the driver.

"Ah, yes. We had a good night’s sleep," proclaimed Mercedes Stuhlfrau.

"Bite me!" the Baron added as he sat at the table for breakfast.

"Well, no one else dead, I trust?" Bob asked.

"Not everyone is here yet. I think we should go check on them," Mercedes suggested.

The three who had made it to breakfast walked up the stairs.

Egoni von Sine screamed as she found that she no longer had short hair.

She quickly calmed when she noticed that someone had just placed a wig atop her head. She got out of her bed and went to the mirror. She slid the wig off and sighed deeply.

She screamed again as she saw her head was covered in blood. Checking, she could not find any wounds on her head. Whose blood then?

Once more she screamed when she saw the reflection of a robed figure standing behind her. The figure held a shiny sickle in their hand.

"Argh!" was what she said.

The figure breathed heavily and growled. "Hello girlfriend!" it said as it lunged towards Egoni with the sickle.

Egoni screamed, dodging her attacker and ran towards the door. She momentarily forgot how the door was operated and ran instead to the bed, jumped over it and ran into the ensuite, behind her she locked the door and sat leaning against the wall.

The figure outside was attempting to slam the door down. Then it started to stab at the door, the sickle slipping through the wooden frame. "No!" Egoni screamed, running to the window.

She opened it and climbed out onto the ledge. She had moved six feet or so when the figure opened the door and burst into the ensuite.

She carefully stepped along the ledge, towards the next window. The figure climbed out with her, quickly catching up, its agility and speed was impressive.

Egoni cried out as the sickle did its work and her limp body fell from the sixth floor and landed in a convertible in the alley beside the motel. Her body landed on top of the blow-up doll, which the man in the car had been parking with. He was pleased with the result. He now had a real woman. Did it really matter that she was dead?

The three Bavarians arrived at Draco’s door, knocked. She answered quickly and they all went to Indulging Rib Caftan’ s door. She also answered, so they moved onto Egoni’s door.

"Oh, yes. That’s soooo gggooooddd!"

Al sat in the spa with Sweet Bosom. Dispenser was currently at a Tupperware™ party.

"Oh, yes keep doing that!" Sweet massaged Al in several places, which shall remain anonymous. She had expanded her roles in her assistance of Al.

"Al, do you like that?"

"Yes! No! Shit!"

"What, no good?"

"Dispenser will be home soon. And crap, the kids! I forgot about them."

"Where are they?"

"I think I left them inside the house. However, I remember something about a circus."

Al’s mind ticked with the pressure, it was not used to this sort of strain. "Yes, elephants . . . lions, or something. There was a . . . yes, a circus! I left them at the circus!!!!"

"Wha . . .?" Sweet began.

Al jumped out of the spa, which lay outside on the verandah. He ran through the house, in his nakedness and towards the door.

"Perhaps you should dress!"

"No time!"

He went to open the door when the doorbell rang. "Argh!" he screamed and grabbed a potplant from the small table near the door. Shielding himself with it, he opened the door.

There was no one there. Al stood confused. He saw nothing but a small package sitting on the ‘Fuck Off Commies’ mat.

"Mmm . . ." He opened the package and had to prevent his gall bladder from running away.

There lay a bloody, pink, kidney.