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Episode Two:

Don't be fooled!

She's got a bedpan!

"Well," Kook began, explaining to the president about the nuclear weapons. "An old woman, named Glenda Woolly, stumbled across a large storage of nuclear and other weapons. We believe that the weapons belong to a small island north of us, called Insinceria. They have been hiding their weapons here as there is little room on their own island."

"Where did they get the weapons?" Stix queried.

"We believe that it was at a US Defense Force garage sale."

"Damn! I knew we should have gone to that!" Stix spun around, an evil glow in his eyes. "Where have the weapons been hidden?"

"In Mrs Woolly's pantry."

"In her pantry?" This conjured up some strange mental images for Stix.

"Yes. But we are having some trouble getting them out of there."

"Trouble? Just shoot her."

"Well, that probably wouldn't go down well with the public were it to get out. We have to protect ourselves. Most people don't like the government going around and shooting people." Kook phrased the next sentence in his head, trying to make it sound convincing. "Come and see for yourself sir, we can solve this problem I am sure. When she sees the president she will surely give over the weapons."

Northern New Zealand, 3 hours later . . .

The black chopper beat at the air viciously, circled once more and then landed in the centre of a field of tall, wind-blown grass. Its shiny, black surface reflected the light of a setting sun. The sky was a dull orange on the horizon, purple and blue diffused into the sky slowly as the sun sank.

A door opened on the side of the black machine and two men in black attire and sunglasses stepped out, followed by Stix and Kook in seemingly inappropriate Hawaiian shirts and cargo pants.

Another man in an ill fitting blue suit approached the new arrivals. "President Stix!" the blue suited man said, fighting to raise his voice above the beating of the chopper blades.

"What?" Stix yelled.

"President Stix!"

"No, a quarter to five," Stix replied.

The man came closer. "Hello sir, may I introduce myself. I am Colonel Twitchy."

At closer range the man had a rough appearance. A scar on his left cheek, his left eye missing, the lids sealed over. He appeared unshaven and rugged, tall and muscular, with slick dark brown hair. His trousers were too short, beige socks showing underneath them. His jacket appeared too tight.

"My God! Have you been assaulted?" Stix asked, as close as he could ever get to being genuinely concerned for someone else. "You look like shit!"

"Excuse me?" Twitchy asked, puzzled.

"I said," Stix replied, yelling louder, "You look like . . ."

"Hi!" Kook exclaimed, placing his face physically into the conversation. "Is that the house?"

For the first time Stix noticed the house, about fifty metres behind. It was a dreadful pink colour that seemed to scream out to the world "Look everyone, I'm here!" The shack was decorated carelessly with terribly dead pot plants on crochet hangers. It was small, only two windows and a door on the front, and a poorly maintained veranda, the railings leaning awkwardly outwards.

"Ah, yes. That is the residence of Mrs Woolly." Twitchy sighed deeply as if seeking sympathy. The look he received from Stix told him that he wouldn't be finding it here.

"Have you had any success in obtaining the weapons?"

"No, the old bitch won't let us near them. She keeps beating us off with a broom and a bedpan."

"Good lord!" Kook moaned. "Anarchy is rampant in our fair nation."

Stix glared at the house, which told Kook that he was ready to go and investigate it. "I don't like the look of it!" He stated clearly.

"Come on sir, this shouldn't take long."

Two weeks earlier at the same place . . .

Glenda Woolly sensed that someone was in her house. She had a certain skill for detecting these things. Maybe it was the fact that she felt the brief touch of the wind on her leg, maybe it was a little sound, which the door had made when the intruder had opened it. Or perhaps, and more likely, it was the sight of the eight men carrying large metal objects into her house, making a regular passage of her hallway.

She sat in her loungeroom, quietly knitting a large jumper - a project that she had begun sixteen years ago and was determined to finish. Whenever she met someone with shoulders twenty-one metres wide she would give them the jumper. But she had yet to finish one of the sleeves.

Eighty-seven years experience in life told her that the men in her hallway were up to something. And she would not just sit here and let it happen, like she had for the past eight weeks.

"Hey!" She cried out to the intruders. "You're scuffing the lino."

"Sorry." One man in a white plastic suit said. "We'll try not to do that."

Glenda continued to watch them carefully. When they seemed to have completed the carrying of metal objects into the house they were talking softly in the hallway, congregating recklessly.

Glenda shuffled over to them, pushed through the crowd. At the kitchen door she turned around. "So, who's staying for cake and tea?"

"Well, we have to go now, we have a . . ."

"I SAID WHO’S STAYING FOR CAKE AND TEA!?"

"OK, we can stay."

"Good! But I am sorry, I am out of tea. How about some cod liver oil?"

The eight men gathered nervously in the kitchen. "So Larry, how has Jackie been, the poor dear?"

The men looked around puzzled. One of them nudged another, suggesting he should play along as Larry. "What? Ah." The man struggled.

"Still got that nasty rash has she?"

"Er, well no, it has cleared up."

"Oh, that's good then." She put nine plates on the table and sliced up an apple cake. "Have some boys," she gestured kindly with the knife, but shortly waved it around madly when none of them moved. "Have some!"

They quickly took a piece each, ate it as quickly. "I will be back in a second then."

They watched her disappear out of the room, holding their breath until she was gone. "God! What a crazy old bitch!" One of the men said in Insincerian, the language of Insinceria.

"Yeah, good job Clat, that was a marvellous performance you put on as 'Larry'."

"Thanks, I think that insane old cow bought it. Where is she then?"

"How about we get out of here while she is gone," suggested the first man whose name was Ljyup. "She will probably forget that we were here anyway." They all laughed and agreed that it was best that they go.

In the hallway their getaway was halted by Glenda on returning suddenly. "Where are you off to then?"

"Well, we have to get going."

"Without saying goodbye to your Auntie Glenda? Come on line up!"

"But . . ."

"Now!" The old woman could be forceful when she wanted to. The men lined up and the woman held up a spoon to Ljyup, full of a red-brown liquid. "Drink up."

Ljyup took in the liquid, grimacing at the taste. "Good, eh?" Glenda asked, smiling. "Cod Liver oil, good for the constitution."

"Mmm," responded Ljyup.

"Swallow it!"

Ljyup swallowed it courageously. "Now give your Auntie a kiss." He did as ordered and ran from the house, retching. "Goodbye love, give my love to Letty." The line of men each had their oil and said goodbye to Glenda, receiving requests to greet anonymous persons such as Joe, Kelly, Caitlyn, Imran and Don.

"What nice boys," Glenda thought. "Oh, Larry is so much like his father."

She hummed softly to herself, heading for her pantry in search of tea. When she opened the door she became confused. She couldn't remember buying anything of the brand name 'Danger' or 'Radioactive'. She let it go and went back to her knitting.

Back to the present, Stix enters the home of Glenda Woolly . . .

Stix surveyed the interior of the old woman's home with contempt. What tasteless decoration and hideous decor, he thought. She should be shot if only for this.

He found a group of men sighing to themselves at the doorway. Others were running from the house and another four were in the kitchen washing their mouths out. "Cod Liver oil," one explained with pain in his voice.

"These brave men," Kook mused.

"Where is the old bitch?" Stix inquired, finding the house rather chilly, pulling on an attractive mauve cardigan.

"I think she is in the loungeroom still, sir," Twitchy answered.

Stix saw Twitchy indicating the door in front of him. He glared at it suspiciously and then approached it. It was a simple wooden sliding door, a dark brown, open only a couple of centimetres. As he stood in front of the door he heard an odd tapping sound, relentlessly repetitive.

Stix placed his hand on the door, slid it open. There he saw a tastelessly decorated room,  the centrepiece seemingly an old woman, sitting on a threadbare lounge chair, knitting an obscenely large garment.

"Hello!" Stix called tersely.

"Hello!" The old woman replied.

Stix glared at her, trying to seethe with hostility. This attempt was halted and left Stix only with humiliation when the old woman cried out, "That's a nice cardigan you're wearing!"

"Ooh," Stix shuddered. "Listen you cantankerous old cow, let us have the nuclear weapons or we will have you killed."

"What's that dear?" The woman looked puzzled.

"You know very well what I am talking about you stupid old bitch! We are going to take these nuclear weapons and you are going to sit there and knit and think about the relatives who never visit you because you are generally an unpleasant person and you have absolutely no appeal to anyone of the human race as you are ugly, have dreadful taste in all things, especially interior decoration, and your senile old brain bores them and numbs their will to live!!!"

"Nuclear?"

"Yes, you silly woman! You know you have them, they are in your pantry! I am the freaking president of the country, you will obey or die!"

"No, I am keeping them for Terry! You can't take them, they are Terry's and Jackie’s and Imran's. I won't let you take them!"

Stix considered the situation for a moment, tapped his foot in irritation, pouted, frowned, glared and finally took a gun from his pocket, aimed it at Glenda Wolley, and pulled the trigger. The pistol made a terrible sound, after which Stix was satisfied, leaving the house.

On yFalminica, a group of politicians sit, plotting . . .

7pm

"That was the best chinese food I have ever had!" Guru Al, proclaimed. "You can't even tell it is cat!"

"That was cat?!?" Nine Turning Mirrors blustered, wiping his tongue furiously with his hands and then sticking his fingers down his throat.

"Gees, Mirrors, I was just kidding," Al said, then turned to the others, nodding in confirmation.

"Oh, well good!" The President General exclaimed, jumping into his chair. "So what of this whole New Zealand thing?"

"Well." Igor said, standing to achieve a more confronting stature. "It shouldn’t be hard, really. They are a pissy, insignificant country and no one really cares about them. We could crush them quite easily, with our superior forces. Besides I think that we should broaden our influence beyond the pointless colony of Mozambique."

"Hey!" NTM yelled, taking offence. "I fought hard for that country!"

"Hey!" Guru Al yelled, upstaging NTM effectively. "Isn’t New Zealand a colony of Britain. They might not be too pleased with another country wanting to take it from them."

"Mmm." Igor thought.

"How about," Gamblor suggested, "we just don’t tell them?"

The group looked from one to another, considering this. They were silent for a minute while they thought about it, taking everything into consideration. "You know what I think?" Gorf began, before being interrupted by Gamblor.

"You know what I think?" Gamblor asked. "I think that the Brits will be glad if we took NZ off their hands. They would have so much less to worry about."

"I don’t know." Igor said. "It is more of a prestige thing. If we took a colony off them they would be quite offended, and would probably want to wage war with us. Consequently we would be nuked until there is no home for the cows to come home to."

"Or until the cows mutate and start walking on their hind legs, and become absorbed into Human society." Guru Al suggested. "And then there would be all this Bovine prejudice. Like ‘Hey, man, are you dissin’ my udder?’ and ‘Hey, those are my brother’s shoes you are wearing’ because they would have been made out of his brother. And there would be all these gang wars and strikes because cows would refuse to give people their milk. And no one would eat any beef products because it would be like murder. And no one would have any of those groovy cowskin rugs. And people who do have those rugs will be persecuted. And . . ."

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Nine Turning Mirrors asked.

"Nothing, I am just saying, that it could happen. You will be sorry when it does . . ."

"OK." Igor reorganised her thoughts and tried to remember where she was. "Ahuh! What I was going to say is that the best excuse for annexing New Zealand, is to try to provoke a war with her, then we would have the right to crush her!"

"Brilliant, Igor!" NTM commended the Defence Minister. "We should start planning immediately!"

Outside Glenda Woolly's house, Stix stands, glaring meaningfully into the distance, Twitchy and Kook behind him . . .

"Ah, did you think you did the right thing, sir?" Twitchy asked, slightly annoyed at the obscene perma-grin that Kook possessed.

"You! Dare question my authority?" Stix began, reaching for his gun again.

"No, no! Sir it's just that I think the situation could have been handled a different way."

"That woman was in the way so I had to remove her. It was the only way that I saw possible."

"But, sir. You didn't have to spray her with that Nexron9 gas* with your pistol!"

*An experimental gas that had not been tested properly, but designed to give those that it was sprayed on, a stoned or drugged out appearance, lasting a short time, followed by them being strangely excitable and speaking crap. It was used extensively in tests during the nineties on such people as Mariah Carey and The Spice Girls

"You know I had to! We have the nuclear weapons now don't we? That's what we wanted! And we were getting nowhere before."

Twitchy conceded this was true. He considered the day’s proceedings and he began to twitch wildly. Kook and Stix watched the bizarre display with interest, as Twitchy’s spasmodic movements continued, a slight clicking sound omitted from his mouth. Finally the convulsions ceased.

Stix allowed himself a smile. He could come to like this position as malevolent dictator. And with these weapons he could see his goal of world domination within his reach.

It was all coming together [insert evil laugh].

In the yFalminican capital . . .

January 28, 4:40pm

"We have our navy positioned here, just north of New Zealand, and the army is ready to mobilise, on aircraft and also ships. What we do is we claim that the Kiwis encroached on our territory and then we have a reason to attack them and take everything they have." Igor explained. "Inevitably this will also give us permission to kill who we want and enslave anyone who is left."

"I like how you think Igor," NTM confided in his companion. "You’ve got balls!"

"Well, at least I used to . . ." Igor muttered.

"What claim do we have that they were infringing on our territory?" Guru Al queried, fiddling with the end of a biro. "We can’t just say that they did it, no one will believe that!"

"Yes . . ." Igor realised her argument had grown progressively weaker, and was presently in the last stages of death. It had developed acute leprosy over the past three minutes and was currently falling to pieces. "Well . . . We have to encourage them to do so, somehow."

"I don’t see how we could do that?" Nine Turning Mirrors mused, going cross-eyed and staring at his nose.

"Yeah, how can you encourage a country to trespass on another’s territory?" Al asked, chewing on the end of the pen. It promptly fell into his mouth and lodged itself at the back of his throat.

"I have it!" Igor screamed, darting towards the map on the wall. Calmly she pointed to a small dot on the map and shortly began to perform the Heimlich manoeuvre on Al. "This is . . . an . . . island, just north of . . ." Al coughed and spluttered, the pen not budging. " . . . New Zealand." Igor continued to assist Al with little result.

"Itjch schtuk inscj mah thrahtj!" Al yelled, pushing Igor aside. He put a hooked finger into his mouth and after a small yank, removed it with the pen.

"If we take this island . . ." Igor vigorously slapped Al. "Try to be more grateful when someone helps you." She pouted at him for a moment and then turned back to NTM, Gamblor, AFOC and Gorf. "If we take this island, I believe that they would become quite alarmed and immediately take action."

"Why is that?" Gamblor inquired. "Does it have a large population of sheep?" The group laughed heartily. "No really," Gamblor persisted, "does it have a large population of sheep?"

"Gamblor! Discard all of your prejudices and clear your mind of all of those stupid Kiwi stereotypes." Igor screamed. "It is a time for quick and precise action, there is a need for real planning – something that we have not really had before, not even when we had that alien invasion." She smiled coyly, interlocking her fingers. "Besides, I have a secret."

"We’ve all heard that one," Gamblor muttered.

Somehow Igor transcended the space between them and gave Gamblor a swift kick in the groin. "No, I doubt you know this one! You see, it has to do with New Zealand and this small island, which goes by the name of Insinceria. I have it under good authority," she winked at AFOC, "that New Zealand has recently been very active on this island and has opened up many trade deals and begun massive mining programs. If we were to interfere with this, then surely New Zealand would object."

"But, what’s to say that when New Zealand defends Insinceria, everyone else won’t back them up?"

"Because no one else cares, or knows about it! That is the beauty of the plan." There was a knock on the door, Gorf leapt up to answer it after no one else showed signs of willingness to help. He conducted a short, hushed conversation with the man at the door and returned to the others in the room with a small piece of paper.

"Umh," Gorf began, "thith methage thayth that New Zealand hath been a republic for eleven dayth thince the first prethident wath elected!"

"What!?" Igor screamed. "How is this so? Why is it that we are months behind on New Zealand political affairs??"

"Well, I haven’t picked up a newspaper or watched TV for a long time." NTM said.

"Don’t you have any advisers?" Igor yelled.

"Advisers?"

"Oh well, we know now, I suppose. And it is good news. They are no longer a colony of Britain! However Britain would still consider her as being an ally and would protect her. Who is this president anyway?"

"Ah, it’th Gregor Stix!" Gorf informed them, reading from the message.

"Curses!" Guru Al moaned. "My arch nemesis, my one true hate, my heart’s abhorrence, my mortal enemy, my detestable foe, the apple of my eye . . . oh, scratch that last one."

"What are you carrying on about," Gamblor asked.

"Gregor Stix! He has been my opponent in everything since I was seven years old. I loathe him, I despise him. He is evil, pure evil . . . he was like the school bully, the spoilt rich kid and the teacher’s pet all rolled into one! He went by the name of The Stick at school. I will not have him interfere with me again!"

"Ah," Gorf whispered. "Tho that’th why the thtory’s called Return of the . . ."

"Let’s crush these f#$king Kiwis!" Al screamed.

"I am liking this more and more." NTM proclaimed. "It’s a big decision though. I think I need a drink."

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Last updated: 02/07/00