The Important Mission
- This isn't anything like your semipartiallyalmostannual neighborhood citywide panty raid! It's a nefarious plot created by Doctor Professor Evil Evilstone so he could quick rich get! SAYVE YURSELF HARREH!
The town hobo had been setting people on fire again, the screams rising like an erection through the smashed window of the derelict building. From the look of the place you'd think it was abandoned, but inside was a fully operational police call centre. As the city's crime rate had surged, the Mayor, high on crack, had seen fit to dramatically reduce police funding. Only Ted worked there now, taking the increasing number of police requests for 24 hours a day, seven days a week. No one is quite certain how he slept or got his food, and where, despite having worked in the call centre every day of his life (Conceived and born on his desk), he managed to get his accurate stories of experiences he'd had in the outside world. Though as you'd expect after 10959 back-to-back shifts, Ted had become bored.
It had been another long Friday night, for the past 4 hours Ted had been taking the calls of panicked morons, discussing their predictably boring life-or-death situations. The petty bastards, he'd missed his fag break to a burglary and if one more cat was found stuck up a tree he'd gun it down himself. Why should he care, most of them ended up dead anyway. Still, on the bright side he clocked off in five minutes; he could get home, feed his porn addiction and have some well earned R and R. Little did he know, this would turn out to be the longest night of his entire life. (Well, actually he did happen to know that this would be the longest night of his life - an error at the Greenwich Observatory had meant that that particular day was 25 hours long, hence becoming a longer night than any other. This 25 hour day also explained Ted's plan to go home that night, seeing as he only worked 24 hours each day it was only right that he had the extra hour off.)
Setting his egg timer and nudging aside any objects blocking the path to the door, Ted yawned. 4 more minutes. 240 seconds of toil until he could finally dive into his car and slam on the weekend. Who'd need to call the police in the next 4 minutes anyway?
Just as Ted was on the verge of scratching himself a call came in. On the second angry bleep of the phone Ted resigned himself to another catastrophe.
'What? What do you want?'
'Oh thank heavens you're there! An oil tanker has just crashed into the pier, there's bodies everywhere, and people are screaming for help! You've gotta do something about it!' answered the terror-stricken man, his voice sounded early-30s and as if he'd be quite the heroic protagonist were it not for the great pain he was undoubtedly in.
'Look buddy, I've been answering the whinings of panicky poos like you all evening; A patrol car here, SWAT team there. I really don't give a shit! Can't you just take the law into your own hands for once?'
'My hands were blown off in the explosion.'
'So how did you manage to make a phonecall if you don't have any fingers to dial the numbers with?'
'It's only 3 numbers, sheesh, it's not like I'm a complete retard or anything.'
'What ever man, can you just send a unit over here: people are dying. You could save them!'
'You still haven't given me a reason to come over there.'
'Most of the survivors are porn stars.'
'I'll be there as soon as possible.'
Ted spun his chair to the other side of the office and punched in his boss's phone number. It was a surprisingly long and inconvenient number, with several security questions and 3 separate renditions of 'Easy like a Sunday Morning'. Finally getting through to him two hours later, an out of breath Ted had reached his boss.
'This is General McPimpus speaking, how may I help?' Answered the gravely voice of Ted's shady boss.
'Sir, there's an emergency on Street Street.'
'Jimmy this is your call, what do you suggest?' Added the General.
'My name is Ted.'
'What's that got to do with the mission Jim? Now tell me, what should we do?'
'The pornstars I presume.'
'It's a code pink sir.'
'I see, this is worse than I thought. Dispatch the Pussy Wagons!'
'But sir, remember what happened last time?'
'Yes Jim, I do. But we've got to give it a shot! The Pussy Wagons may well lay waste to the streets, they may well slaughter innocent pedestrians, and they may well destroy all life as we know it, but by gum we've got to save those prostitutes!'
To Pier 69[edit | edit source]
The peaceful silence that had descended upon the town was, to put it shortly, blown to shit by the onset of the huge pink Police SUVs. The 4-by-4s tore up the ground with their heavy wheels and smashed through all obstacles in their path, Whether it be a roadblock or an OAP attempting to buy groceries.
'So sir, what's the plan of action?'
'Jim I'll level with you, this is going to be tight. I'll take the front entrance and you come in from behind. George, you film. If we're lucky we can make Das PussyVator's morning feature.'
'My name's Ted.'
'You're right Jim, sexing those prostitutes is imperative to our mission. Good work.'
Ted switched on the window wipers; A dense patch of screaming pedestrians was misting up the windscreen.
'Damm it Jim. I can't see my hand in front of my face with this weather!'
'Weather? Sir those are people.'
'Were people Jim, were people.'
The Journey Continues[edit | edit source]
'Sir we've been on the road for 2 hours. There's no traffic and the pier is a 10 minute walk from the station. Why aren't we there?'
'Because we were at Burger King Jim.'
'Yeah I know, but I mean, was going there strictly necessary? More people could have died by now!'
'So it's our job to protect and save lives, don't you have any compassion?'
'But sir think about all the death we could be preventing.'
Ted's plea fell on deaf ears, well, a deaf ear: The Captain was only deaf in one ear, caused by a welding accident at the age of 3, but nonetheless the plea was still ignored.
'Why should we prevent death? It just creates more of a problem for the already under funded and overcrowded hospital.'
'So you'd rather hundreds of people died just so some poxy doctor get an extended lunch break?'
'That's right Jim.' Said The General with a big American smile.
'That still doesn't explain why we needed to go to Burger King sir.'
'Doesn't it Jim? Doesn't it?'
'No sir, it doesn't.'
'Well, uh, didn't you see the kids meal promotion that was going on?'
'Hang on, what?'
'Well, yeah I did. Buy a kids meal and get a free toy.'
'And don't you think the one-time only offer of a free toy with a meal is far more important than faceless people's lives?'
Ted buried his face in his hands. 'Sir, They run that promotion every week. And these people aren't faceless, they're human beings.'
'Not faceless yet Jim, you might notice I'm bringing the shotgun.'
Ted slowly lifted his face from his hands and the looked at the General in disbelief.
'Sir! Removing someone's face with a shotgun is completely illegal!! Not only that, its just plain wrong.'
'I've had it up to here with your liberal-minded moral crap Jim, I'm demoting you.'
A Life and/or Death Situation[edit | edit source]
As the jeeps had smashed through the last set of buildings between them and the pier like big wuffy wrecking balls, Ted had set his disbelieving eyes upon the horror before him.
All police reports, photos, witness statements, and remarkably similar and strangely frequent past experiences in Ted's life could not prepare him for the devastation that lay before his eyes. It was horrific, blood and hellfire was flying everywhere, survivors hanging precariously from the intestines of the dead. The steely waves were smashing against the fast sinking ship like a giant fist, and the pier could barely last out another half hour. Ted was violently sick, his trousers now a delicate shade of brown. It was a dark day for Townsville, a dark day indeed; (Mostly owing to the fact that it happened to be midnight at the time).
A nearby rescue 'copter exploded, the General casually lighting his cigar on the incinerating debris. Stretching his arms out wide, he yawned. He calmly turned round to where Ted lay mentally scarring.
'Something wrong Percy?'
'Something wrong?!? Sir, what in hell's kitchen are we going to do?' Screamed Ted, with tears of panic in his eyes.
'We're going to do what we always do. Make a base camp, call in our slightly fatter balding superiors, and direct the situation as they see fit.'
'But sir, the last time we tried that it turned out that, in a strange twist of fate, we were the bad guys! We made our base camp, put the kettle on and blew up everything in sight. If it wasn't for that group of attractive renegades that seemed to like the camera, well sir, if it wasn't for them we'd all be dead.'
'You're right Percy, I'll admit we did make that mistake last time. I had read the script, I should've seen it coming. But this time things will be different. Let's just say that I've got a hunch.'
'When you say 'hunch', do you mean that you've kidnapped the narrator's family and won't release them until he ensures we save the day and buys us all a drink?'
'Sir that isn't going to work, He can just use his leet writing skills to release his family and exact revenge on you.'
Somewhere faraway a lock clicked open and a family was released. Almost at the same time, the General stubbed his toe on a rock, causing it to become infected with terminal gangrene.
'I told you sir. You know, he probably wouldn't have drawn your death out as long as he will if it wasn't for the fact you're so essential to the plot. You should count yourself lucky.'
'COUNT MYSELF LUCKY?!? I'VE JUST BEEN DIAGNOSED WITH FUCKING GANGRENE! Not only am I going to die, probably before the end of this article, but my toe really really hurts! Narrator, you're a cruel bastard!'
Just as The General had finished saying this the sky darkened ominously. Lightning struck, blowing The General's leg clean off and somehow infecting him with leprosy.
The General, clutching his bleeding stump, decided that hell could wait. 'Alright, I'll be quiet.'
Upon that grand epiphany the sky cleared, the General's leg bandaged itself up and an aeroplane flew overhead. The metallic bird began to make letters with it's smoke, dancing elegantly across the sky. Ted Followed the progress of each letter slowly with his one remaining eye. (Ted only has one eye - Didn't see that one coming did you? Eh? Neither did Ted, well he did, but only with half the vision that a normal person would see it coming with. So in fact he did see it coming, but he lacked the necessary depth perception for it to count.)
With a great puff of smoke and a nosedive into the ground, the plane finished writing it's message. It read:
Not wanting to invoke more anger from the narrator, the two strapped on their guns and readied their condoms, cricking their necks in a reassuringly macho fashion, they entered the maelstrom.
THE PLAN![edit | edit source]
'Well Percy, now that we're stuck in this ship, giving up our worthless lives to save others, I'd just like to say that I may one day have valued you as a friend. Maybe'
'Sir we're not on the ship. You lost interest halfway through retrieving a hooker's leg and meandered off to this fairground, across the road from where we're supposed to be.'
'Really? Well why didn't you stop me then Percy?'
'Because you threatened to cry if I wouldn't take you on the merry-go-round. Then when I turned my back you handed the bloke all of my money so we could have a 4 hour long go.'
'Oh yeah I remember now, obviously you know why I did that don't you?'
'Because you're a male chauvinistic twit who was repressed by his militant father as a child?'
'No Percy, though it may look like an excuse for me to enjoy and get vaguely aroused by cheap plastic horses, but it is in fact a top secret mission briefing. Essential if we're to carry out our mission successfully.'
'Uhuh, then who is supposed to briefing us oh wise one?'
'My boss obviously, He's just there.'
'Where I'm pointing, theeeere!'
'Sir you aren't pointing anywhere. Both of your hands are firmly inside your trousers.'
'That's right Percy, meet the smallest ever US President.'
'You can say that again.'
The General glowered at Ted. Ignoring the comment he continued.
'Winky, say hello to Percy.'
'Winky? President? You're actually being serious?'
'Hang on, you mean your member is in charge of the most powerful nation in the world?
'Oh, oh God.'
'What? Winky's never done anything to you!'
'Sir I'm going over the road, this is getting weird.'
As Ted made to leave a gun cocked behind him.
'Percy, stay right where you are.'
'Because my trouser party just finished and you have the tissues.'
Ted tried his best not to be sick. After a minute's battle with his gag reflex Ted continued.
'Putting Aside the irreversible mental scarring you've just inflicted upon me, shouldn't we just walk over there?'
'Never! That is what they expect us to do.'
'Shutup Percy, fetch your coat and grab a hold of your horsey, I have a plan.'
Under the supervision of McPimpus's magnum the two of them set to it. Their plan, most likely conceived whilst the General drew inspiration from French mental patients, involved riding the merry go round until it edged all the way across the road to the ship wreck. There were a few fundamental flaws in their plan to say the least, for example the fact that the merry-go-round was in fact the circular clothes rail in a sex shop, but they still went ahead with it anyway; hey, No one had any better ideas.
The Plan Deteriorates Ever So Slightly[edit | edit source]
Over the next three years the world changed completely. The whole ship-pier-fire-death-porno situation resolved itself with minimal fuss, Tony Blair was voted Miss World after gunning down heavy favourite Fidel Castro, and Seppy got a new peg for his beak; it was pink with floral patterns and had pictures of n00bs he'd vaporized on it. The Sex Store was hit hard by the mass castration of 2011 and had to shut up shop; still whizzing around the clothes aisle the General and Ted were shoved into the trash. His leg movement freed by a lack of testicles, the shop owner wasted no time in moving the thumping dumpster across the road.
As soon as the wheelie bin reached on the other side of the street the violent shaking from inside stopped. It creaked ominously under the immobile weight of the pair. Then Suddenly Ted erupted from the thing, punching the air in victory.
'General! We've made it! Your scheme actually worked, we've made it across the road! At my lowest ebb I considered starving to death, butI knew we'd make it.'
The General sprung from the trash like a hobo coming up for air.
'What? Really? I mean, yes, of course we've, uhh, made it. Erm, right! Percy grab your rescue gear and hitch your police leotard up so that I can see your man bulge better, we're going in.'
The two of them ran into what three years previously had been a burning sea-faring crash scene in dire need of police attention. As they burst through the doors of the building currently occupying the space they did a double take; everything, was, hunky dory. The fire had been put out, the dead buried and the subsequent charred remains had become a tourist attraction. Standing there, clad in rather smelly police leotards and wielding SAS Attack Piñatas, they were stuck for what to do next.
R.I.P. The Plan[edit | edit source]
Having seen them stationary in the middle of his self proclaimed 'Hilarious Shipping Incidents Involving Nudity Museum' the curator walked over to the two gormless policemen and dragged them off to the bar. Sitting them down on his authentic hooker-leg bar-stools, the Guy began to explain.
Ted quickly realized, upon hearing the guy's seductive baritone, that the man was in fact the previously terror-stricken man with a voice that sounded mid-30s and as if he'd been quite the heroic protagonist who'd phoned him about the whole situation in the first place. Over four glasses of wine, a pitcher of whisky, several tubs of vaseline, two pints of lager and a packet of crips, the mysterious lothario told them both what had happened. Ted and the General sat rapt with attention as the Hero's longwinded story of quenching fires with fish-net tights and making a Swingers' Museum out of a bad situation came to a close.
'- so yeah basically me, the protagonist of this story, saved everyone and set up a successful business as a result. That's why I'm the hero married to the Hoff and your just a couple of losers who got lost in a bin.' Concluded the guy.
'W0-Wo-woh, Hold it right their mister!' Exclaimed Ted.
'I wasn't going anywhere?'
'Percy meant hold it right there in the intellectual sense.' Explained the General.
'Oh right.' The Guy quickly lassoed his mind back from the depths of a nearby customer's breasts and sat it down in his skull.
'What I mean, Mr. Smarmy Hero, is that, well I hate to break it to you but the storyline has been following me and The General.' Said Ted.
The Protagonist's grin was swiftly replaced by a look of disappointment and shock.
'You mean, I did all that for nothing? My worthless and now apparently brief literary life is devoid of the heroics that I thought I'd be remembered for?'
'''Fraid so dude.'
'Hey, don't let it get you down: I'm sure Percy can get you a part as an extra in an article or something.' Said The General.
The Guy, now on the verge of tears, wasn't listening. 'But I tried so hard, and got so far. But in the end it didn't even matter.'
Ted put his arm around the Guy. 'Come on, it's alright. Now I think it's time we got you home.'
'I don't have a home!!' Choked the Protagonist. 'I've spent the last 3 years in limbo at the back of the author's notebook, waiting for him to need me again!'
Ted suddenly looked up at the Guy. 'Well, uhh, I don't mean to be brutal, but if you're going to make your whole existance worth-while, then you'd best do something memorable pretty sharpish. Because the script kinda says you're being killed off.'
'When?' Asked The Guy.
'It says here that it's straight after you say "When?".' Added the General.
The Guy dissolved into tears, hitting his head on the way down to the floor, his neck snapping like a matchstick. The Protagonist had died. Ted looked round at The General angrily. 'Oh well done General, it's not like he needed to know the timing of his imminent death did he?'
'Hey you told him he was going to be axed.' Argued the General as an axe fell on to the protagonist's corpse.
'Shut up, just shut up!' Yelled Ted. 'Hang on, can't we just change the script to suit our purposes.'
'No we can't Percy, it's laminated.'
'And look, everything we're saying now is scripted. Page 3 paragraph two, The General as they put it says this: "'And look, everything we're saying now is scripted. Page 3 paragraph two, The General as they put it says this:" "And look, everything we're saying now is scripted. Page 3 paragraph two, The General as they put it says this:" "And look, everything we're saying now is scripted. Page 3 paragraph two, The Gener-"
'SHUT THE F*CK UP! I get what you're saying.'
'That was scripted as well. I can't wait for the bit when you punch me out of annoyance for my continual script analysis. Look it says right there "Stage Directions: Ted punched the General." Hang on a seco-'
Ted punched the General.
A Quick Realization[edit | edit source]
'Hey Percy, this script says you're called Ted; what a load of bull!' Laughed The General.
The Plan Was Flawless[edit | edit source]
'Well Percy, I think it's about time we put out that fire and saved those hookers.'
'Sir, weren't you listening to anything the protagonist said?'
'You expected me to care about that douche's mouthshit?!?'
'Well yeah kind of. He told us the hooker-pier-oil tanker predicament had been resolved. There's no need for us here.'
'So what are we going to do with all this high-tech army assault and rescue gear then?'
Luckily a passing soux chef provided the answer. 'Dudes, dudes. You could always unblock the toilet for me.'
The General's face lit up like a Fire-Eating Christmas Tree. He motioned with his hands for Ted to creep along the back wall towards the lavatories, while he himself would take the far more dangerous route, acting as a decoy. Ted misinterpreted this signal (the one-fingered salute) and ran head first into the toilet, attempting to unblock it with his face. The poo wouldn't budge, and neither would Ted; he was stuck fast. The General ran across the restaurant, screaming "Man Down! Man Down!", until he finally reached the gents (he had finally gave up trying to gain entrance to the ladies.) After several homoerotic minutes spent retrieving Ted's face from the bog, the two of them were flung back; poo and bits of Ted flying everywhere. They both lay there, the General breathing heavily, and with Ted in two parts. One end of him firmly stuck in the toilet.
'OH NOES PERCY!!!! I've killed him, with my bare hands!! Pretty impressive, but nonetheless I'm a murderer!!!'
'I'm not dead.' came Ted's muffled voice from inside the lav. 'And I'm not called Percy either.'
'Oh my goodness Percy you frightened me there, but seriously, why aren't you dead? I can see parts of you that for all purposes should remain unseen.'
'I've got a "Get Out of Toilet-Related Bodily Separations Free" card.' The card began to glow bright pink, as it disappeared with an erotic poof Ted was freed from the toilet and reunited with his other half.
'How'd you get one of those? They don't even exist.'
'Sure they do, and I got one when I landed on that Community Chest a while ago.'
'I wondered what that was, it kept poking me in the back when we were in the skip.'
'Whatever man, now back to the toilet. CHARGE!!'
Using every method they could, the two of them annihilated the thing. First they launched several missiles and shoes at it, before calling an air-strike over their location. By the time the last SAS Attack Piñata had showered it's chocolaty contents on the crater where the bog once stood, the place had caught fire again. The trapped customers (mainly prostitutes) were running around aflame, in exactly the same predicament they'd been in 3 years ago. And this time there was no handsome protagonist to save them. The General and Ted in the meantime had strolled out of the joint, looking towards the crimson sky of the setting sun.
'Umm General, why are we walking out of shot in the direction of the picturesque horizon?' Asked Ted.
'Because Ted, the author's had enough of us for one article.'
'You knew I was called Ted?!?'
'Shut up Percy, you're ruining the moment.'
Ted looked around him, they were almost out of focus now.
'Another thing. Why are there immense letters emerging out of the ground and ascending into the sky?'
'That's the credits.'
'I thought articles didn't have credits?'
'Articles written by pretentious twats do.'
'Ah, I could see that douche doing something like this now you mention it. But why do all the words look the same?'
'Well Ted, though the author has tried to make his article impressive with the use of closing credits he's not taken into account that there really isn't that many people to attribute to the making of an article. That's why every name that rises out of the ground reads "Testostereich".'
'What's a Testostereich?'
'The wanker that portrayed us in this article as gibbering titmunchers, if it wasn't for that he simultaneously controls and protects our very existence with his soliloquies and cheap play-on-words, then I'd indulge in throwing a brick right into his soul.'
'He's a dick Ted, a dick! Remember that.'
'Ok, I'll make sure that I do.. Just one other thing.'
'Does this mean we're coming to the end of this article?'
'It would appear so I'm afraid, this is the last page of the script.'
'But I thought we had so much more to offer. Sequels, T-Shirts, little crappy figurines of us in Toys 'R Us, we could've been big time. And he chose to end it here. Why would he?'
'Judging from what I think of the author, I'm guessing he can't afford enough paper to extend the script further.'
And without another word they turned away from each other and walked on. Their silhouettes gradually shrinking until they were engulfed by the blazing red and gold.
What a f*cking relief too, I was starting to get so sick of them. I was well nice to them and everything, this was going to be an article about rape until I intervened. And this, this is how they thank me for my kindness. The dicks. And bloody 'ell, the number of times that General went for my wallet¬ It was unreal. 36! Thirty-bloody-six. You'd think he'd know better too; I mean, seeing that I control his destiny, and his chances with the ladies etc.
Mwuahahaha, he is going to be sooooooooo typecast as a shemale for this.