Notes: this will probably be funnier if you have read "Life, the Universe and Everything," the third book in the "Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy" series by Douglas Adams. However, I think you can still read it if you missed that book. One pointer: Wowbagger the Infinitely Prolonged is an extraterrestrial who has been around a real long time. We know he was around 3 million years ago, because at that point he met Arthur Dent and insulted him. This story was inspired by "The Private Life of Genghis Khan," by Adams himself, which is available at http://www.douglasadams.com/dna/980707-07-s.html The stuff by Adams is, of course, much funnier than this story; I was trying to keep it vaguely Highlander-like.

DISCLAIMER: Methos and Joe belong to Davis & Panzer Productions. Wowbagger the Infinitely Prolonged belongs to Douglas Adams. All else is mine. Feel free to distribute as long as my name and this notice remain intact.

Prolonged Insults

by Kirstin Beall

Egypt, 2,900 BCE

    The sullen sun hung heavily over the Western horizon, poised to sink into the land of the dead. It was stubbornly refusing to drop behind thick rainclouds, and a drought was parching the land of Egypt even more than it already was. Methos stared at it, burning his eyes, knowing that they would heal again as they had so many times before.

    Of all the scribes in the temple, he was the only one that could look Ra, the sun god, in the eye. He was also the only one whom Osiris had chosen to resurrect. It was a wonderous thing, and he still didn't understand why he alone had been chosen, of all Heliopolis, to awaken on the embalmer's table, frightening the poor man almost to death. Which would have been convenient for the embalmer, but not for Methos' fellow clients.

    A shout broke his concentration, and he looked away from the sandy horizon to see a tired young boy, a new priest sweating in the heat. The season of Inundation was long overdue, and the freemen farmers were beginning to worry that they would have nothing to eat. There were no major construction projects for them to work on, and anyway, there was not enough water. The Nile was running low, and even the sacred crocodiles looked fed up.

    Of course, he reflected, as he ran towards the young priest, crocodiles usually look fed up. This is because they usually *are* fed up . . . up to the gills, generally with unrepenent heretics.

    Methos had reached the boy. "What is it?" he asked.

    "Look."

    The boy pointed up into the sky. Methos followed the track of the boy's finger and saw a brilliant point of light, gradually becoming brighter as if it were approaching.

    The boy's finger was shaking. "Is it Sekhmet? The Eye of Ra? Come to destroy the world in flame and anger once again?"

    Methos shook his head to comfort the boy. Truly, he didn't know.

    The point grew. Eventually, the boy lost his courage and ran away to the safety of the temple. But Methos stayed, curious about this apparition. It grew some more. Not satisfied with its new size, it continued to grow. After a few moments, Methos could make out a strange, silvery shape, sleek like a fish. The thing slowed gently as it approached, then hovered. It was as large as the Pharoh's own barque. Smoothly, gracefully, a set of long, complex insect legs unfolded from its shell, and the thing set down on them. In awe, Methos wondered to himself if the thing was Thoth's nighttime barque.

    A hatch opened up, and a stairway neatly unfolded itself. Beautiful, pleasant light poured out of it. A tall, slim figure appeared in the doorway, sillouhetted against the light. "Thoth?" asked Methos, questioningly. "Is it you?"

    The figure walked briskly down the stairs and approached Methos. It held a strange tablet in one arm, which it consulted briefly.

    "You are Methos?"

    The startled Immortal could only nod.

    "Methos, scribe in the city of Heliopolis?"

    Nod.

    "Right. You have the brains of a mealworm, the wit of a scarab, the social grace of a camel. Thank you very much."

    And the creature spun around and reentered its ship, leaving a very astonished Methos behind. But the Immortal could only gape helplessly as the ship delicately lifted off and headed for the stars.

. . .

Western Europe, 1,000 BCE

    The Four Horsemen had spent a hard week raping and pillaging most of Europe, and were sitting down to a quiet evening of relaxation around the cheerily glowing embers of a hut. The owners of the hut had raised a fuss, but Silas had gone off to have a little chat with them and his axe, and that had been the end of that. In any case, all four were together now, and grateful for the chance to relax.

    "Pass the salt," said Caspian. Salt was very expensive, but the salt peddler they'd met that morning had been all too eager to part with it at the low, low price of his life. Kronos passed the jar over, and Caspian sprinkled some of it on his salt peddler steak.

    Methos happened to look up at that moment. A gleaming ship was dropping gently out of the sky. In a poetry of motion, it decended to the ground, unfolded its landing gear, and came to rest barely twenty yards away.

    The door opened, and light spilled out around the tall, thin figure within. Methos was struck dumb by astonishment -- was this the same creature he'd seen before? The light caught the eyes of the other Horsemen and they turned to look as well. As the tall, green-skinned creature walked down the delicate staircase, Kronos jumped up to intercept him.

    "Who are you?" demanded Kronos, waving his sword about for extra effect.

    The creature looked at him disdainfully. "I am Wowbagger, the Infinitely Prolonged."

    And then he pushed right past the astonished Kronos and walked up to Methos. He checked the board he was holding.

    "You are Methos?"

    "Yes."

    "Horseman of Death and all that?"

    "Yes."

    "Excellent. Methos, you are a nitwit. You've the brain of an anteater and the charisma of an earwig. Thank you."

    With that, Wowbagger turned on his heel and headed right back for his ship, barely pausing when Kronos stuck his sword right through him.

    The ship neatly refolded its legs and shot off up into the night sky.

    "Hey, you've got my sword," cried Kronos, in a tone of voice that was both annoyed and perplexed. But Wowbagger did not return.

. . .

Northern Gaul, 30 CE

    "Names?"

    The three women looked startled and turned to confer amongst themselves. Methos sighed. It was bad enough that Caesar had sent him to live so near the incredibly stubborn village of Paris, worse yet that he had to live with Gauls, but now he was having to take down the names of all people applying for residency in this farflung edge of the Roman Empire. It was just as well he didn't know that the Gauls would one day become the French.

    "Ladies, could I please have your names?"

    "Well," said the youngest of the three, a very fetching young lady, "it's difficult."

    "Why?" Methos softed his voice for her, hoping that maybe he'd have a chance with her later on.

    "Well....we all have the same name."

    He laughed.

    "Don't laugh!" she said, reprovingly. "It's true. But we've had trouble at every way post since Jerus...." The oldest of the ladies developed a sudden bout of emphysema. The pretty one waited politely for her to finish caughing, then failed to finish her sentence.

    "Since where?" asked Methos, pointedly.

    "Since....um, since Jeremiah left us in Rome. Yes. That's it." She was totally unconvincing, but Methos wrote "Rome" neatly in the ledger before him. She was looking more attractive by the moment. "And what are your names?"

    All three spoke at once. "Mary."

    Before Methos could continue, a bright light shone down from the heavens, outshining the evening sun. He looked in its direction and saw a silver craft gliding gently down out of the sky. Just as it had happened twice before, spindly legs gracefully unfolded as the ship set down on the ground. The door opened, and the three women gasped at the heavenly light. One began to pray in Hebrew, unaware that Methos could understand her.

    The thin gray shape of Wowbagger walked down the stairs and approached Methos.

    "Yes?" asked the old Immortal.

    "You are Methos?"

    "Who are you?" asked Methos, breaking the pattern.

    Wowbagger frowned. "I am Wowbagger, the Infinitely Prolonged." He harrumphed loudly. "Are you Methos, centurion to the Emperor Tiberius?"

    "Yes," answered Methos.

    "You are a nincompoop, Methos. A worthless lump of dirt." Methos tried to come up with a response, but was too flabbergasted. "And furthermore, the woman you're flirting with has taken a vow of chastity. And she's laughing at you."

    Methos turned. She wasn't laughing, but this seemed to be due to a tremendous amount of self control, because she was biting her hand to keep the chuckles in. "Now, just a minute," he began, spinning around to confront Wowbagger, but the creature was already gone.

. . .

North Atlantic, 765 CE

    "Will you stop singing?"

    Methos was well past his wits' end. The seven of them had been stuck in this bloody rowboat for a week now, and the monks were getting a bit ripe. After the pleasant conversation about latin scholarship had died out, the monks had switched to singing old Irish airs, Gregorian chants, and even a few bawdy drinking songs that the monks would then claim they didn't know. Methos was beginning to suspect the sun was having an affect on them. It certainly seemed to be having an affect on their pitch.

    But they just kept singing!

    For the fiftieth time, Methos wondered whether he could swim to shore before drowning a few times.

    The monks stopped singing for a moment. Methos didn't get his hopes up; he knew they were just taking a breather. Sure enough, after a minute, they began to sing again, hoarser, louder, and in more keys than before.

    "What have I done to deserve this?" muttered Methos. It couldn't possibly get any worse. Unless, of course, they sang that bloody rowing song again.

    At that moment, a glittering point of light in the sky caught Methos' eye. As he watched, the same old silver ship came drifting beautifully down out of the heavens. Gracefully, it hovered a few feet above the water. This time, Methos noticed the deep humming sound the ship emitted.

    The door opened.

    Wowbagger stepped out.

    Disappointingly, he did not fall into the water.

    "Methos?" called Wowbagger.

    "Oh god...." muttered Methos. The alien no longer startled him, although the six monks were staring at Wowbagger in shock. Methos looked up at the heavens instead. "Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa. Now get rid of Wowbagger."

    Predictably, Methos felt, the heavens did not respond. Wowbagger remained, smiling efficiently at Methos like a well-trained supermarket clerk.

    "Methos, in transit from Ireland to Iceland? Latin scholar at Dublin?"

    Annoyed, the old Immortal did not answer.

    "Very good. You're a jerk, Methos. A complete and total buffoon. Thank you."

    Without another word, Wowbagger returned to his ship and departed.

    Methos realized that the monks were all staring at him. "Get stuffed," he told them. So they started to sing again.

. . .

Seacouver, July 1997 CE

    "I don't get it, Methos," said Joe Dawson as he poured another beer for Methos. Joe's Place was empty; soon it would be permanently empty, when Joe followed his Watcher calling and moved to Paris to teach young Watchers how to do their job. And to wait for MacLeod, thought Methos. "I never figured you for a UFO nut."

    "I'm not a UFO nut, Joe." Methos sighed. "Look, I don't tell people about Wowbagger very often."

    "Hah! I can see why." The Watcher was amused. Methos supposed it was a change from the kinds of stories Joe usually heard from across the bar. "Aliens? Hovering spaceships? And this alien even knows your name." Joe chuckled. "And he just insults you, huh? Every time?"

    "Look, Joe," said Methos, "I am not making this up."

    "Sure. And was the Loch Ness Monster around when you met Wowbagger in the North Atlantic? How about Bigfoot? Ever see a Sasquatch or Yeti? Come to think of it, maybe this alien's got Glen Miller, Amelia Earhardt, and JFK's preserved brain on board."

    "That's not funny," said Methos.

    The ancient Immortal became aware of a deep rumble. Joe did not appear to have heard. He was laughing too hard. "I mean, come on, Methos!" Methos listened for the rumble, but it seemed to have stopped. "Who ever heard of an alien menace named Wowbagger, the 'Infinitely Prolonged'? What kind of stupid name is that?"

    The door opened.

    As one, Joe and Methos turned to face it. A brillian white light was shining through, silouetting a tall, slim figure. As the figure walked out of the light and up to the bar, it became abundantly clear that it was Wowbagger.

    "It's my name, thank you very much," said Wowbagger.

    Joe's eyes widened, but his professionalism kicked in. This might be an alien, but it seemed to be an Immortal one, if he'd really been around as long as Methos. "Are you really Immortal?"

    Wowbagger cocked his head to one side. "I prefer the term 'infinitely prolonged.' I can't die, and don't think I haven't tried. I hate the universe, and I want to insult it. Personally. And it's time I got to it."

    He turned to face Methos.

    "Are you Methos? Recently expelled student of linguistics?"

    "Expelled?!! When?" Methos rose to the bait and stood right up to Wowbagger.

    The alien sniffed at him. "I expect the letter hasn't arrived yet. Something to do with tardiness, I imagine." Then he consulted his clipboard. "Hmmm....where was I....ah yes." He looked up. Methos realized that Wowbagger had a bitterly gleeful look on his face. "So glad I could do this. You know, it really has been a pleasure insulting you through the years. Normally, I can only hit each person once, but you Immortals are a special case."

    Methos blinked at the politeness. "Thank you," he said, uncertainly.

    "Not at all," said Wowbagger. "You are an ass, Methos. A mule, a donkey, and a very unnattractive horse's backside. Thank you very much."

    And Wowbagger turned on his heel and strode right back out the doors. If he strained, Methos could hear the soft hum of the ship as it lifted off.

    Joe cleared his throat.

    "Don't even say it," said Methos.

    "What?" said Joe, innocently spreading his hands.

    Methos sighed and wondered how long it would be before he saw Wowbagger again.