Weirdoes in Paradise
By Hysterical Woman
Disclaimer: The characters and settings depicted wherein were created by the Brothers Chap. The actual story was written by me. If you want to use this story for MSTing purposes, please e-mail me at hystericalwoman at yahoo dot com.
Warning: This chapter contains some alcohol use. All characters depicted are of drinking age or have convincing fake ID’s.
Chapter 3: The Prodigal Pom
Pom-Pom surveyed his old bedroom. Revisiting an old bedroom is always an embarrassing event. It’s sad enough if your old room has been converted to a guest room or even worse, an extra bathroom, but it’s most depressing when it’s been left as it was when you left home. The room becomes crystallized in time, showing you your past self, and it isn’t always pretty. Old rooms are usually filled with badly-made model airplanes, posters of has-beens, and stuffed animals with accusing eyes.
In Pom-Pom’s case it was filled with maps. He hadn’t visited even half of the places marked on the maps. He had traveled a lot, but when he visited Free Country, his wanderlust faded. It was if Free Country was the place he had been looking for all his life. He didn’t even know he had been looking for anything. It was a matter of serendipity.
Pom-Pom flopped down on his bed. He was tired after dealing with his 27 girlfriends. By themselves, they were charming, intelligent young ladies, but together they became a mass of jealous harpies. He was glad to escape them.
After taking a short nap, he got up and showered. He put on his tuxedo and went down to the lounge. It was time for the cocktail hour before dinner.
The classy lounge was filled with classy people. The crème de la crème of the Isle of Pom chatted over mixed drinks and fine spirits. The Free Country gang felt out of place. It wasn’t that they weren’t dressed formally, though. Marzipan had chosen a lovely purple dress from her collection, though it paled with the other designer gowns. The rest had gotten the appropriate attire via borrowing, haggling, or just cutting up an old couch in some cases. Strong Mad had borrowed his from the circus, from the erudite Professor Ishmael. The Cheat already had a nice blue tux. Strong Bad still had problems with his tux.
“Wearing this suit,” he remarked, “on this weird island with these weird people, I feel like Number 6.”
“Ewww!” replied Marzipan, “I didn’t need to hear that!”
“Meh mehmehmeh!” the Cheat complained, pointing to Strong Bad’s Molotov Cocktail.
“You can’t drink! You’re only like…eight or something,” Strong Bad said.
The Cheat pulled out his fake I.D. and said “Meh!”
“The doctor says alcohol will aggravate your ‘Black Lung’,” Strong Bad replied.
The Cheat ignored his advice and got a drink anyway. Being only 50 pounds, he quickly got drunk and started singing with an inebriated Homestar.
“Tropical lazor beams…” Homestar crooned, leaning on The Cheat.
“Homestar!” yelled Marzipan (who was drinking a virgin Bloody Mary).
“Lazor beams of love…”
“Homestar, stop that!”
“Um, some more lyrics!”
“Homestar, you’re not drunk! I told the bartender to give you water!”
“Oh,” said Homestar, sobering up immediately.
Strong Sad opted not to drink, as he told the bartender.
“My doctor says I shouldn’t drink alcohol with my medicine,” Strong Sad explained, “which isn’t too bad, I guess. With my last medicine I couldn’t have garlic or be in direct sunlight. And in the 4th grade…”
Kid, said the bartender, My amazing bartender listening skills only apply to people who order drinks.
“Oh. Then I’ll have a Shirley Temple, it always cheers me up,” Strong Sad said, “As I was saying…”
Coach Z had no lost of people to talk with. He was currently talking with a dark skinned Pom girl with round frame glasses and cornrows, a girlfriend of Pom-Pom. She was busy explain Coach Z’s music to Coach Z.
It represents modern man’s fear of technology and the lost of privacy and intimacy, explained the girl, whose name was Pie.
“I though it was a portable telephone,” replied Coach Z.
The King of Town, oddly enough, wasn’t having a good time at the gala. He sat in the corner moaning until a waiter bounced over to him.
Sir, could you please not chew on the curtain? the waiter asked.
“But I’m hungry!” whined the King of Town.
Would sir like a drink to tie him over?
“I’ll have a Butter-Da.”
I don’t think that’s available at the bar, the waiter answered cautiously, But the local automotive shop might have it.
“I’ll just have a glass of lard then.”
Pom-Pom ended up in a conversation with the Archbishop of Pomopolis and Marla, Pom-Pom’s religious girlfriend, on why God made the platypus. His best friend ended up in another exciting discussion.
“And that’s how I lost five of my livers,” Strong Bad said to an amazed Homestar.
“That’s just an urban legend,” complained Marzipan, “People only have one liver anyway.”
“Well, maybe regular people only have one liver,” Strong Bad replied.
“I have two kidneys,” Homestar offered.
A familiar looking pom bounced over.
Good evening to you, he said.
Homestar cried, “Hello, Pom-Pom!”
This was a mistake. The pom looked angry for a moment, and then continued politely.
Let me introduce myself, he said, My name is Prince Pam-Pom.
“Oh, you’re Pom-Pom’s little brother!” Marzipan exclaimed.
“The baby of the family, huh?” Strong Bad said.
Yes, in a way, he said testily, But I’m almost an adult, with responsibilities and duties.
Homestar and Strong Bad chuckled at that. Pam-Pom ignored them.
For example, I coordinated this gala, he said proudly.
“You did a good job,” said Marzipan.
“Yeah,” said Strong Bad, “You did a good job of throwing a really lame party. What’s with this classical crap they’re playing?”
Thank you for the input, Pam-Pom said, trying to ignore Strong Bad.
He then looked over at Pom-Pom, who was coming his way.
Excuse me, Pam-Pom said, I have business to attend.
He left the group hurriedly.
“What a serious young man,” Marzipan said.
“What a freaking nerd,” Strong Bad added.
“Hello, um, Pom-Pom?” said Homestar uncertainly.
Hi guys, said Pom-Pom, Where did my little bro get to?
“He had business to attend,” Marzipan told him.
I haven’t been able to talk to him since I got here, said Pom-Pom.
“Well, he is busy,” said Marzipan.
“Yeah, busy avoiding you,” said Strong Bad.
Before Marzipan could say anything, the dinner bell rang. Strong Bad’s little brother didn’t hear it, because he was busy talking to the bartender.
“And then they were going to put me this new medication that sometimes causes rage, paranoia, and stiffness of the hand joints, but I couldn’t stand to ruin my hand so…”
Excuse me, sir, but I’m closing up, said the bartender, Time for dinner.
“Thank you, I guess I’ll…wait a minute!” said Strong Sad, “Who are you? Where did the other guy go?”
He ran off and jumped into the ocean, the poor guy, explained the bartender.
“Why do I feel partially responsible?” Strong Sad asked himself.
The Free Country gang had their own table to the left of the royal table. Pom-Pom sat at the royal table with the King and Queen and some royal aunts and uncles and cousins. His brother was absent, but since he was busy that was no surprise. His girlfriends were scattered throughout the dinning room, much to their displeasure. Homestar wasn’t happy about the situation either.
“I want to sit next to Pom-Pom!” he whined, “I don’t know what all these utensils do!”
Marzipan, who was seated at his right, said, “Just start from the inside out. Or maybe it was outside in. No, maybe you alternate…”
“Reminds me of the time I had supper with Kriss Kross,” mused Coach Z.
“Wait, were we suppose to eat the utensils?” asked the King of Town.
“You ate my silverware,” moaned Strong Sad, who sat to the right of the KOT.
Strong Sad had come in late, so he had to sit between the gluttonous KOT and the smelly Poopsmith. Surprisingly, the Poopsmith did not smell that bad. During the afternoon he had taken a rigorous bath, and now only smelled like a gentle fart. Strong Sad sympathized with the untouchable Poopsmith, but still wanted to change seats.
Strong Bad sat in between his henchbeings, who guarded him in this strange land. Well, Strong Mad guarded him at least. The Cheat lay on the table, sick as a dog. The KOT eyed him greedily.
“Duck a la ‘range…” he murmured as he took an uneaten fork near the hung over creature.
“Hey!” yelled Strong Bad, “Get your own…um…whatever the heck The Cheat is.”
Before the KOT could eat everything the appetizers were served. While the KOT ate them right away, the rest of the gang had problems with the first course.
“I’m not eating this,” declared Marzipan, pushing away her plate.
“Me too! It’s just not right!” said Homestar, only to be greeted with Marzipan’s angry face.
“Homestar,” Marzipan said, “I’m not eating this because I have compassion for all living things, great and small. You’re not eating this because it’s gross and nasty.”
Indeed, the appetizer was a delicate array of local bottom feeders. Despite the presentation, one couldn’t help feeling that this dish belonged under a rock. Even a sushi lover would be turned off.
“I DON’T EAT BUGS!” cried Strong Mad.
“Don’t worry, big guy, I’ve got a great plan,” whispered Strong Bad.
He then brushed his plate off the table nonchalantly.
He then said, very chalantly, “Oh no! It seems my plate of delicious bugs has fallen to the floor! Maybe if I’m quick enough…! No, thirty seconds has passed! Oh well!”
Sir, said an omnipresent waiter, We can get you another…
“Don’t worry, good chap! Ha, ha, ha!” Strong Bad replied as he winked to Strong Mad.
The titan threw his plate across the room.
“OOPS!” he yelled.
Strong Bad just sighed.
“I can’t eat this,” declared Bubs, “without salt and pepper!”
He grabbed the condiments and then proceeded to chow down, much to everyone’s amazement.
“How can you eat that?” asked Homestar.
“When I was growing up,” explained Bubs, “my family was so poor, when me and my brother went fishing, we ate everything we caught, whether it was catfish or coat hangers. We ate every slimy thing from those ponds.”
“Wait just a goldarn minute,” said Coach Z, who sat at Bubs’ left, “You told me you grew up in the ghetto.”
“Well, you should have seen our potholes after a good rain,” Bubs replied.
So between Bubs and the ever hungry King of Town, the despicable appetizers were polished off. Next was the salad course, which passed with little event, though Marzipan complained about the chicken strips mixed in. The soup course brought some surprise however.
“My gazpacho soup is cold!” yelled Strong Bad.
“Everybody’s gazpacho soup is cold,” said Marzipan.
“What!?” cried Strong Bad, “Just because we’re not from around here they think they can serve us cold soup?”
“Strong Bad, I meant…” Marzipan began, but it was too late.
Strong Bad stood on his chair in protest.
“USA! USA!” he chanted.
“Good grief,” mumbled his humiliated younger brother.
“Gazpacho soup is served cold, you idiot!” yelled Marzipan.
“Oh,” said Strong Bad, sitting down, “That’s pretty crappy, though.”
After what seemed like an eternity, the main course was served. It was a wonderful dish, prepared by the greatest chef on the island, if not the world. It was so delicious it even tempted Marzipan, who had managed to get a vegetarian quiche. Strong Bad, however, found fault in the entrée.
“Hey!” he yelled, “Could someone unshrink my chicken!”
“It’s game hen!” Marzipan whispered loudly, “Shot by some cruel hunter before being seasoned by the best of spices in the prime of its life.”
“Can I get some barbeque sauce?!” he continued yelling, “Or maybe some honey mustard?!”
Strong Sad sunk down in his chair, embarrassed beyond belief.
“Oh brother,” he murmured.
Pam-Pom came over to the table.
Are you enjoying yourselves? he asked.
“Yeah, the tiny turkey’s great,” said Homestar, “but I wish I could be over at Pom-Pom’s table like that guy.”
Pam-Pom looked over at the royal table, where a milquetoast man, who was certainly not a pom, was talking to the King. Pam-Pom shuddered with disgust.
Dr. Raider? he asked, Why did I invite that man?
“What’s wrong with him?” asked Marzipan.
Dr. Raider is the curator of the Prance Anthropology Museum. He wants “artifacts” from Pom culture. We have given him some things, mostly worthless, but now he wants the Great Pom.
“The Great Pom?” asked Marzipan.
The Great Pom is the greatest treasure of the Royal Family of Pom, he answered.
“You people aren’t very creative with names, are you?” Strong Bad noted.
The Great Pom, he continued, is a giant pearl, the largest and most perfect of its kind. Legend says it was given by the god of the ocean, Mar-Mar, as the dowry of Pomera, goddess of this island, when she married King Pom-Pom I.
He looked over at the royal table again.
Perhaps we should give it to him, he said sadly, to represent all the fine young poms that are leaving this island.
He sighed and looked off into the distance.
Hey, Pam-Pom!
Pam-Pom looked behind him to see Pom-Pom bounce over to him, with his girlfriend Mopa. Pam-Pom looked dazed, like a trapped creature.
Aren’t you going to say hello to your big brother? asked Pom-Pom.
Before Pam-Pom could say anything, a giant layered cake was wheeled in. It was a masterpiece of frosting and butter, white like a perfect pearl. Pam-Pom felt proud of this great dessert, but thought he detected some rumbling. The cake started to rumble wildly, and before Pam-Pom could do anything, a horrible white head popped out.
“There’s always room for jelly jams!” yelled the creature.
“Homsar!” cried Strong Sad.
Pam-Pom turned to his brother.
This is all your fault! he yelled, First you leave this island for years, while this country grows poor and has to entertain foreigners to keep alive, while you party around, and then you come back we have to blow the budget on this foolish party and you bring your unruly foreign friends who just ruined the cake we spent hours on!!
Little brother? Pom-Pom whispered.
Shut up! Pam-Pom yelled, I hate you! I hate you and I never want to see you again!
Pam-Pom left the silent room. Mopa drew close to her dazed boyfriend. The redhead had been Pom-Pom’s girlfriend since they were eleven and was rumored to be the next Princess of Pomopolis.
Are you alright? she asked.
I just need some time alone, Pom-Pom said sadly.
He bounced away slowly. Strong Bad stopped him.
“Hey man,” he said, “I know how little brothers can be. Just punch him a few times and he’ll shut up.”
I’m not going to beat up my little brother, Pom-Pom said.
“I can do it for you then!” said Strong Bad.
I don’t want that either, said Pom-Pom as he bounced away.
“Come on!” cried Strong Bad, “I’ve been itching to lay a finger on that nerd for a long time!”
Pom-Pom was out of hearing range though. He walked up to his room sadly. Pam-Pom was right; he had betrayed his home.
Next: Chapter 4: Life, Love, and the Beach
Author’s Notes:
The Prodigal Pom: The title refers to the Biblical parable of the Prodigal Son. Basically, this young man begs his father for his inheritance. He then goes off into the world, loses everything, and comes back on his hands and knees. Surprisingly, the father is happy and throws a big party. His older brother is unhappy about this and complains to the father. I think Pam-Pom’s reaction is similar to the older brother in this parable.
The drinks: A Molotov cocktail is a type of homemade bomb. A virgin Bloody Mary (or a Virgin Mary if you feel cheeky) is just tomato juice. A Shirley Temple is a club soda with grenadine. A glass of lard is just gross.
Dark skinned: Yes Virginia, there are black people on the Isle of Pom.
“Rage, paranoia, and stiffness of the hand joints”: A reference to “A Visit with Strong Sad”, which is a wonderful story that should not be read by anyone.
The bartender: Though he jumped into the ocean, he was rescued by a mermaid who fell in love with him. They got married and lived happily ever after. There, are you happy?
Seating arrangements: If you’re confused, the seating went like so:
Homestar| Marzipan| Coach Z| Bubs| Strong Mad| Strong Bad| The Cheat| The KOT| Strong Sad| The Poopsmith
Next Chapter: This is the end of Act 1. The major conflict has been established. In the next Act the subplot will be introduced. In the final Act the conflict will come to head and the subplot will tie into that. I’ve got it all worked out, so don’t worry.