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Alright, here's a brand new type of Fan Fiction for everyone.  Not everyone will like it, and probably no-one will participate, but that's alright.  This thread is simply a place to have fun with completely nonsensical events that tie together several posters.


1. There are no rules; anything goes.

2. Along the same vein, nothing works.  You can blow up the entire universe and it'll just pop right back.  Or maybe it will be replaced by a haddock named Nigel - who knows?

3. Keep things light; this is a thread based in creating fun in a board devoid of it for too long.

4. Invite others to join in!  All senses of humour welcomed.  The more the merrier!

That's it!  Let the posting begin!

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Dragoon Knight sat in his tower, which was located directly on top of Buckingham Palace.  The Queen had objected at first, but was soon silenced when she was launched into low orbit by one of the tower's many "defence mechanisms".  Londoners had learned to stay away from the blue edifice.

"Well I'm bored," he said.

"You could turn the clouds into marshmallows again, sir," replied Dirk, Dragoon Knight's first personal assistant.

"Naah," Dragoon Knight replied, "I'd get letters of complaint from the Diabetes charities again."

"What Diabetes Charities, sir?" asked Yves, Dragoon Knight's second personal assistant.  "You blew them all up."

"I may have done, I may have done..."

Just then, a loud explosion was heard just outside the tower window.  Yves went to investigate.

"Another message for you sir." he announced.

"I wish they'd stop sending carrier pigeons towards my windows - takes ages to clean the bird gore off my stonework afterwards."

"The Queen has landed in the South Pacific and is most perturbed."

"I imagine she is." Dragoon Knight yawned.

"Shall I arrange for her to be re-launched, sir?" asked Dirk.

"No need.  I'll deal with her if and when needed."

"Very good, sir."

Dragoon Knight sat back and exploded.

"WHAT THE FLYING GYPSY JUST HAPPENED?" he screamed, flying upwards at a great rate of knots.

"It appears that your tower exploded, sir," said Dirk, who was also flying upwards, but was strangely unruffled by the experience.

"By whom?!"

"I shall find out, sir," said Yves, who was on a similar vector until he unzipped the air, stepped into an elevator and began to descend, complete with annoying elevator music.

"By GOD they are in so much trouble when I land."

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Paul Newmann was strolling along the main alley in London, enjoying a sunny cloudy afternoon, when the Tower(as Londoners called it) exploded. Again. With a sigh, Paul swiftly took out his squidbrella and opened it, showering several nearby people with black ink. A moment later, the customary blue shards began to rain down on London. Those who weren't lucky enough to take cover and who were hit were teleported to the Waiting Room, where a large green neon sign awaited them; "Game Over", it said. The server list was quite large - India, South Africa, Canada, Barbados, Sweden, etc. - but it was always full. Sucks for them!

When the last of the shards tinkled down on the ground and promptly disappeared in a puff of(curiously enough) red smoke, Paul closed his squidbrella(which closed with a sigh, knowing that it was doomed to boredom until the next time something exploded) and went on his merry way, every once in a while drawing his revolver and shooting some poor bastard. He was on his way to the Colosseum, where there was supposed to be a great fight between dwarves and elves starting soon.

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Still ascending, contrary to all conventional "laws" (such as gravity), Dragoon Knight awaited Yves' return with mounting impatience, when reality unzipped in front of him again.  Out stepped Yves, carrying a litter of puppies.

"Are they responsible, Yves?" asked Dragoon Knight.

"No sir, they are cute," replied Yves.

Pulling out an oversized magnifying glass from his jacket pocket, Dirk confirmed this analysis.

"Very good.  Set them loose," Dragoon Knight commanded with a gesture of dismissal.

Yves promptly attached a small party balloon (which read "Happy 51st Birthday!!") to one of the puppies' collars and let them float downwards safely.  Since puppies were naturally magnetic, they would all stick together quite nicely.

Below, Londoners were celebrating the demise of The Tower, but also mourning the disappearance of a sizeable chunk of London as well.  The Queen had recently returned, looking slightly bemused, insisting that she had left the palace right there.

It was with considerable dismay, then, that the populace of London watched the chunks of tower begin to meld together once more; it was rebuilding itself.

Several people committed suicide right then and there, or at least attempted to.  All bridges had become inexplicably adhesive, prohibiting any jumping, and all vehicles were temporarily made of cheese and limited to walking pace.

"It's time to return to the surface and find out what the hell just happened," Dragoon Knight said, finishing a three-course meal that had always been there, at approximately 32,000 feet, waiting for this specific moment.  Fulfilled, the banquet ascended to Banquet Heaven.

"Yes, sir," chorused Dirk and Yves, prompting an immediate and most uncomfortable reverse of direction.

"I hate that part," complained Dragoon Knight, trying to re-arrange his internal organs so they were no longer aligned alphabetically.

"Very good sir," Dirk said, emphatically.

Soon, they would be back in London, and they could go about the business of making someone's life hell.

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Dante was very upset.

"I am very upset!" He hollered, in his whiny little voice.

His new pink shoes had been scuffed in the explosion.

"My new- hey, that's not why I'm upset!"

His new, pastel pink, deliciously scented shoes made from the lovingly sweetened hides of only the cutest baby lambs with HUGE eyes.

"Goddammit, this isn't funny!"

The tiny lambs, most of which had names like 'Mary Twinklesworth' or 'Lovelypie Sparklecakes' had been snatched from their caring mother when only-

"Dante strangled the narrator with his own colon."


"Yeah, that's right."

*Cough* Dante was very upset.

"Yeah, we dealt with that." He muttered, a dark glint in his eyes. Turning to face open sky, he glared up at the fictional narrator. "Start telling the story properly or I swear I will put your eyeballs inside your scrotum."

But I need my eyeballs to see.

"Just think what I'll do to your testicles."

There was a pause in the conversation as the narrator briefly considered all the possibilities running through Dante's sick, perverted-

"That's enough."

Dante was upset, and the reason was that there had been an explosion which he was not the cause of.

"What royal bastard has blown up the tower that is now standing again where once it was not?!" He yelled in his manly, awe-inspiring voice. "You're overdoing it now." Sorry.

Marching through London on the back of an elephant (he had to make several laps), Dante stood before the assembled tower and glared up it. The sunlight caught his hair, and shone upon the sweat that gleamed upon his rippling pectorals-

"I warned you!" He shouted, quickly putting on a shirt. Glaring directly into the sun, he immediately went super-blind, which is like normal blind except that you can see into the present and the future at the same time.

"My god, the onions!" He screamed, jumping off the elephant and running for the tower. It turned to face him with a disapproving hedgehog, which he named Clive.


"No." Said Dante, and punctured him.

"OHMYGODTHEONIONS." Wept Clive as he sunk into the marsh.

"That wasn't there before." Observed Dante, displaying a remarkable skill for stating the obvious for such a weedy little- "You just don't learn, do you?!"

There was now a sizable crowd of Londoners gathering around this spectacle of the man with the elephant. The elephant was selling tickets and sitting on people who wore Prada.

"Don't think you can distract me with my own elephant." Dante sad threateningly, just as Brad Pitt at age twenty five came sauntering through the crowd. "Ooh, you devious bastard."

Suddenly a man descended from the ground, an awkward entrance at the best of times.

"My name is Yves, I am here to make someone's life hell." He proclaimed in ancient assyrian.

"What do you mean onions?!" Shouted a man at the back.

"Exactly." Said Yves, and mushroomed out.

"That's interesting." Observed Dante, now thankfully distracted by the spectacle. "How exactly does one mushroom?"

"This is not getting us any closer to solving the mystery of who blew up the castle." Said the elephant, sipping tea.

"It's a tower." Said Yves.

"Not anymore!" Shouted  .

"Oh no, it's  ! My mortal enemy!"

Then the narrator grew bored and reset the whole situation.

"What?! Where's Brad?" Dante cried out, even as he could see that Brad Pitt at age twenty five was gone. He turned around to shout at the innocent narrator when the sight of a potted plant caught his attention.

"No it didn't, it's dull!"

It caught his attention and he went over to look at it.

"I did not!"

He examined it carefully, and could not help but feel aroused at the slender leaves and study stem.

"Stop that at once! I am not being turned on by a houseplant!"

Indeed, he knew that-

"Having finally had enough of these antics, Dante swapped the narrator's testicles and eyeballs with each other." Wurgle fub nar gurgle foo. "Having also taken the precaution of rearranging the brain-tongue and brain-anus efferent nerves of the aforementioned, Dante could finally look forward to continuing without any thoughtless interruptions from reality, fate, or any other form of controlling mechanism."

Yim nar splotch blort, akkie nim joogle far pimpips.

"The tower was tall and oblong, and shaped more than a little like a phallus."

"No it bloody isn't!"

"That was Dragoon Knight, exiting the phallus from an interestingly placed doorway."

"Why are you saying that? Who are you?"

"He asked, angrily. 'My name is Dante,' I said, waving my hand in a friendly manner."

"What are you describing that for? Why are you here?"

"Suddenly a package of magnetic puppies descended from the sky. Grabbing the nearest, I used it to invite myself in for tea."

"Would you like to come in for tea?"

"Why yes please."

"Jolly good. Oh, those are nice shoes."

"Thank you, they're lambskin."

Yeah. I can do this.  :P

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"Please, come in," Dragoon Knight said, without ever knowing quite why.  Dante obliged, entering the same door as Dragoon Knight had exited moments ago.  Unfortunately, the floor had been replaced with the gaping maw otherwise known as the Bridge of Khazad Dum, and Dante lost his footing due to it being made of jelly.

"Le aaaaaargh..." exclaimed an inexplicably French Dante, as he fell for 15 years (Gandalf didn't have a watch).

Calmly levitating back to the top floor of The Tower, Dragoon Knight was pleasantly surprised to see Dante waiting for him, munching away on the remains of a flux capacitor.

"Please don't do that," he stated.

"Oh, but I must," Dragoon Knight replied with a smile, "otherwise my guests would find my courtesy lacking."

As if in reply, Dante produced a bottle of vintage merlot and smashed it over the head of Dirk, who had been creeping up behind him with an assortment of menacing appetisers.

"Splendid," assured Dirk, before slowly disintegrating into a fine powder, which Yves promptly swept away.

Both Dragoon Knight and Dante waited patiently for a moment, continuing their conversation only when Yves turned into Dirk, and an ornate lamp turned into Yves.

"Now, to business," Dragoon Knight stated firmly, immediately causing Belgium to have never existed.

"I didn't blow up your tower this time," Dante said, slowly becoming two-dimensional.

"Then by BELGIUM who did?!"

"What's a Belgium?"

"Unimportant!" Dragoon Knight exclaimed, as Clive the Hedgehog exited the non-existent swamp and returned to Narnia.

"Excuse me," asked Paul Newmann, "do you mind?"

"Yes," replied Dante.

"No," replied Dragoon Knight.

"Vindaloo," said Bob Geldof, who was complaining about the day of the week.

"Fantastic," Paul said with a smile, "if you could just sign here?"

A small "For Sale" sign descended from a ceiling fan, and implanted itself in Paul's ledger.

"HA!" he shouted, as reality twisted and warped - the entire group was now at the Colosseum.

"Woah-oh-oh, WOAH-oh-oh!" Sir Bob wailed, as he was mauled to death by rabid elves.  Dragoon Knight began questioning the local Roman Emperor about the destruction of The Tower, while Dante went to check if one of the gladiators was Russell Crowe.  Yves and Dirk melted in unison, undulating off into the bleachers, while Paul set about securing refreshments for the group.

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Seated at the Colosseum, enjoying the popcorn and twiglets provided by a unusually kind Paul, Dragoon Knight turned off the projector.

"And that is why Doctor Who is banned from existing in all but three universes, and all Spartans are shot on sight."

As the projector folded in on itself, turning into a bottle of window cleaner, and the screen flapped away happily, both Dante and Paul looked confused.  Dirk and Yves looked suspicious, but they always looked that way.

"...", said Dante, bemused.

"Agreed!" Dragoon Knight emoted, igniting a jetpack and beginning one of several laps around the Colosseum itself.

"What sir is trying to say is that THERE ARE FOUR LIGHTS," Dirk said with determination.

"But did that actually happen?" asked Paul, who was rummaging in his pockets for something.

"Noooooooooo..." Yves trailed off, as he shrunk to the size of an atom, before splitting, causing London to explode, then instantly return to how it was.

"Stop being quantum about things!" Dragoon Knight shouted as he passed the group.

Paul had found what he was looking for - his revolver.  He immediately shot the entire crowd with one bullet.

"That's impossible," Dante said, making no attempt to explain how he currently existed in 48 dimensions and was tinted Uzrexel (the fourteenth colour).

"We require progression!  We are no closer to solving the mystery of The Tower's destruction!" Paul exclaimed.

"After the match, maybe," Dante said, having found a gladiator to play with.  The group continued watching the elves and dwarves fighting over the Bones of Geldof (which the dwarves had recycled as a fort).

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"It is sometimes necessary," said Dante philosophically growing a beard, "to rise above the petty crowd in order to concentrate on greater things." He began to float serenely into the air.

"But the show isn't over." Dragoon protested, growing a beard of his own in competition.

"It never started." Dante shrugged, causing the entire edifice to revert back to 5am the previous day.

"Goddammit, must you do that to time?" Dragoon glared out from under a rock. "It makes my skin dry out."

"Yes will time can be pissy about some things." Dante shrugged. "However, now that we're in a time paradox I can discuss something in private."

"I'm actually still here." Paul raised a hand. Dante climbed some stairs very slowly.

"Anyway," he continued, "as I was saying I need to discuss something in private.

"I'm still here." Paul pointed out. Dante knocked a few apples down from a tree. He looked at Paul expectantly, who took a moment to realise what was expected of him before nodding and turning into a giant wasp.

"ARGHTHEWASPOHDEARGODWHY." Dragoon quickly hid behind a large jar of honey. Floating inside was Avril Lavigne, with whom he struck up a conversation.

"You leave me laughing on the floor." She said seriously, a bubble forming at her mouth. "Seriously, laughing. LAUGH-ING. Your ridiculous attempts to join the crowd and be even remotely funny are just coming across as the machinations of a sad, tired, bitter, withered old husk without anything better to do as the best days of your life are behind you and all you have to look forward to is a tunnel project which will suck away all your remaining happiness and never amount to anything without a talent that you just don't have. You should just go and leave those of us with talent, time and ability alone and go back to your self-imposed exile."

"Well that's not very nice." Dragoon Knight replied, and promptly let Paul the wasp devour her alive.

"A fun little diversion though." Dante said, puzzled as he was by Avril's shocking and unexpected turn of phrase. While Paul made short work of Avril, he took Dragoon aside and removed a shoe from his beard.

"I wonder how that got there." Said Dragoon.

"Quiet. Do you notice anything strange about this shoe?" Dante asked, one of his eyebrows rising quizzically above his head.

"It's pink." Dragoon observed. "Why is it that shoes around you are always-"

"It has no toes." Dante interrupted. And indeed, the shoe had no toes. It was a plain shoe that ended abruptly with a square. "Do you know what this means?"

"Why, yes. Yes I do." Dragoon replied seriously, taking the shoe from Dante. "It means that Roald Dahl's witches are in town!"

"I was going to say that you need a new cobbler, but that works too." Paul the wasp shrugged with all six legs.

"The witches look just like ordinary women, but they have no hair and no toes!" Dragoon said, briefly summarising all he could remember of the book.

"Indeed, they also have a great sense of smell and a penchant for evil." Dante nodded. Dragoon looked suspiciously at him, before giving his hair an experimental tug.

"I'm flattered, but also you notice not a witch." Dante deadpanned. He picked up the dead pan and shook it morosely.

"What are we to do with witches in the area? They look just like normal women in their first class wigs!" Dragoon moaned unhappily.

"Well, the first thing we should do is head someplace where they will never go." Dante thought. "I know! Witches can't stand the smell of children!"

"I've got it!" Beamed Dragoon, and teleported them into a playpark. It was filled with priests. "Damn, looks like everyone else had the same idea."

"In that case, we'll go to school!" Buzzed Paul happily. Exchanging looks of shared amusement and glee, Dante and Dragoon watched as the massive wasp flew toward the nearest government school, a shoebox just across the road. It wasn't long before screams emanated from within, but their expressions turned to horror as hundreds of wasps started to exit the shoebox.

"Oh my me, he's turned them all into wasps!" Dante shouted in alarm, quickly slipping inside a newspaper bag.

"I have a feeling we should be worried." Dragoon commented, plucking a wasp from the air and sampling it carefully. "Hmm, just as I thought. These wasps are GENETICALLY MODIFIED."

"And zat iz not all!" Both men looked up at the new voice, which came from a large woman with a moustache riding a milion wasps. "Behold! I am here tsoo take ovver ze city off Lon-don! HA!" She struck a swastika pose, which looked awkward.

"Oh. My. God." The two said in unison. "Nazi witches riding genetically modified wasps! ARGGHH!"

"Jah!" The witch crowed triumphantly, unbending her neck. "Und now zat I have your attenzion, I vill deztroy your tower vunz und for alle!"

"You mean it was YOU who blew it up?!" Dragoon shouted in outrage, summoning DirkYves.

"I voz trying to blow it down." The witch admitted sulkily. "But vhen I hoofed und I poofed drei kleine schweine came out und put a ticket on me. Zo I svitched to explosieves."

"Don't you mean explosives?" Dante asked carefully.

"Nein!" The witch grinned, launching a sieve in Dante's direction. With a yell he ducked, causing the instrument to whirl overhead and detonate over North Carolina. "Boy, I hope nobody important was there."

"Run!" Dragoon shouted, and the two took off. "I said run, not fly."

"This way is more fun." Dante shrugged. "And I did say we should rise above."

"Yes, I can't help but notice that you seem to have turned into Charles Darwin." Dragoon observed.

"Veni vedi vici." Darwin nodded sagely, before shedding his beard and turning back into Dante.

"Where now?" Asked a passing dove.

"To the Tower of London!" Dante grinned.

Quid pro quo.

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Dante, Dirk, Dragoon Knight, Paul the Wasp and Yves flew in alphabetical order towards the Tower of London. Dragoon Knight considered the confusion that must have been caused when he dubbed his tower "The Tower", but quickly dismissed this, as he was sure that most Londoners were able to tell the difference.

"Oh no," said Paul, who was inexplicably no longer a wasp, but now a plate of meringue, "there are guards! Guarding!"

Below, there was indeed several regiments of mecha-badgers and battle elks patrolling the area surrounding the Tower of London.

"This is a job for science!" Dragoon Knight grinned, opening a flap of skin on his right arm.

"OH SWEET MOTHER OF CTHULU, WRONG ARM." he blared, before opening a panel on his left wrist. Inside was the solution to all their problems.

Below, mass panic erupted as Dragoon Knight switched the setting from "Floor ON" to "Floor OFF", causing the earth's crust to enter standby mode. The giant, red LED that was The Tower (that is, Dragoon OH SOD IT, FIGURE IT OUT YOURSELVES AAAAARGH...)


... Yeah. The Tower had turned red.

"You realise that the Tower of London is now plummeting into an endless void of nothingness, from which there is no escape?" Paul asked, egg-whitedly.

"Yes," Dragoon Knight replied, still immensely pleased with the result.

"Why isn't The Tower falling?" Dante asked, before smiling with realisation.

"The power is yours!", said Captain Planet, who held the foundations of The Tower above his head.

"Yes yes, that's quite enough of that," said Dragoon Knight's old Primary Four teacher Mrs. Thompson, before slapping him on the head with a rolled up jotter and telling him to get back to work.

And there the story would have ended, were it not for the fact that it wasn't a story.

A rip opened in reality, in the stationery cupboard of the HUTS (yes, THE HUTS). Out stepped everyone.

The net result of 6 billion people stepping out of a stationary cupboard approximately 10 feet by 5 feet (all at the same time, no less) was that God got very annoyed.

Or, he would have, if he still existed. For you see, Dragoon Knight once went back to the beginning of time and left a cat with an infinite supply of food. Over the eons, this cat (named Mow) became so large and powerful that it finally managed to challenge God for supremacy of the universe. Mow won, ate God, ate Earth, then the entire cosmos, sparing only Elton John.

And Madonna, who hung on near Mow's tail, because no-one can stomach her.

"NAH." said .

"Not again!" shouted Dante, who existed once more, along with everything else.

"Don't worry, sir's friend. I shall deal with him," Yves smirked, and began to shave the wallpaper.

"Are we back in The Tower?" Paul asked, back in humanoid form.

"Why yes we are. How convenient," Dragoon Knight said, with a pointed look at the authors of this bastardisation of literature.

"Sir, the Tower of London is now witch-free, it would seem," Dirk pointed out, then in, then out, before completing the backwards Hokey-Cokey with vigour.

"Splendid," sighed Dragoon Knight, "but we still have to seek revenge on the be-Moustached Female Nazi Wasp-Witch."

"Your plan, sir?" Yves asked, mid-shave.

"Isn't it obvious?!" he shouted, which would have horrible repercussions for the group in 4,816 years' time, "Come! We swim!"

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The Towers of London, both of them, were currently in use as venues for an Avril Lavinge concert. Both of them, at the same time. Having survived the attempted eating from Paul the wasp, the poor girl's grip on reality seemed to have suffered.

"So tell me, how is it that you are able to exist in two places at once?" Dragoon asked in a manner most civil.

"I thought we were just hanging out." Avril frowned in confusion, apparantly unaware that both of her hands were turning into penguins. "So why'd you kiss me on the mouth?"

"I didn't." Dragoon's eyebrows rose gently and started humming middle C.

"You thought the way you taste would get me high?" Avril sighed, and turned into a goldfish. "As if." She bubbled. "No matter what you say, you thought you could get into my pants, and in that you are sadly mistaken. Such a shame that you're so used to getting your own way that a bit of rejection sends you off the deep end."

"I don't remember that being in the lyrics." Dante's eyebrows hit E sharp.

"We're without a main act!" The stage manager screamed. "Summon the Kaiserchiefs!"

"It's clear to see that you've become obsessed. I've got to get this message to the press. That everyday I love you less and less." The new band recited carefully and clearly.

"Well I'm glad that's sorted." Dragoon beamed, his eyebrows returning to normal.

"Squared away. Squaaaaared away." Dante agreed.

"Ferret fact finding freezes frightened foes." Dragoon nodded.

"You're only too right." Dante was interrupted as suddenly everything turned green and coded. Figures moved in the mess, everything was green and black.

"Oh my god, it's the Matrix!" Someone shouted.

"No." Dragoon shook his coded head. He reached down to pick up the floor, ripping it up to reveal a swirling mass of pictures. A man with a dog, a tank firing on a pyramid of triangles, a smiling child, a cat with an amusing caption. "This is the Internet."

"Far more powerful than the Matrix." Dante nodded as code swirled apart around his shoulders to reveal documents, games, essays and more captioned cats. "The Matrix only simulated human life. The Internet collects everything it is to be human, all the love, hate, culture, war, news, science, the memes of the present and the lessons of the past. It shows humanity at its best," a picture of aid workers helping a struggling family evacuate before a volcano stramed past, "as well as at its worst." Violent pornography blared across the senses for a moment. Abruptly the images shifted to pink ducks, falling upwards as the floor became sandy and the walls turned to tofu.

"In the arena of medicine, I will pound you into the dirt." Hippocrates glared down from a postage stamp.

"In the arena of biology we stand as kings." Darwin and Mendel adjusted their crowns and patted each other on the knees.

"In the arena of philosophy, I had a decent crack at it!" Socrates danced the highland fling.

"But this is the Internet." Dante grew tall and sinister, somehow managing this despite having aquired a pink duck on his head. "The Internet is my arena, it is my battleground and I know the terrain, I know the tactics, I know the little ways far better than you. What do you think you can do to hurt me? You can't hurt me. But I can hurt you, oh yes I can." He produced a sheaf of papers. "Hippocrates! Here I have your letter that suggests the brain is really made of cream cheese!"

"But- but I never meant it!" The be-bearded Greek wailed.

"Too bad, you wrote it." Dante grinned. "Next, Mendel, I have this letter confessing your love for a swan!"

"She rejected me because I'm not a swan!" The german monk sniffled.

"Yeah well serves you right for being a jar of ants." Dante sniffed, causing a few of the Mendels to twitch their antennae.

"Um." Darwin shuffled off this mortal coil.

"That's ok, you're very inoffensive." Dante nodded. "Now Socrates, according to this communication I received from you, you've been selling philosophical secrets to the mafia."

"I- but- no! You have to save me!" Socrates cried.

"Yes, well, one of us has friends who love him and it isn't you." Dante grinned evilly. "You could have just left me alone, but you had to interfere, didn't you? You had to stick your nose in where it isn't welcome and vomit all over the work of your betters. Well, if you're going to cry and fuss and throw a tantrum when you could just go back to your own corner of the world, so be it. This letter may accidentally find itself on the front page of a website."

"Boring, dull, boring, boring, deplorable, boring, dull, dull..." Dragoon muttered, flicking through a manuscript of some sort while Socrates collapsed into a whelk.

"Not an exciting read?" The jar of ants asked, devouring the remains of his pet apple.

"Hmm?" Dragoon spun 1080 degrees, "Well, yes and no... and TRIREME. Reading aloud, really," he continued, looking up above. The ants looked as well, but saw nothing. "Most repetitive and unimaginative."

"LET US PROCEED." Dante said, taking the book and throwing it into the same swamp that Clive was in so recently.

"...You never do that to books," Dragoon Knight pondered to himself, not knowing of Dante's SUPER-DEAFNESS (which is like normal deaf, except you can hear everything, ever).

"Crappy author. Also made of cabbage." Dante replied as the book sunk, the swamp seeming to welcome it home. The words 'Babble Aquatica' were on the front.

"What a way to start the day..." sighed Paul.

"It's a quarter to ten at night!" screamed Medusa.

"!" said the statue of Paul.

"Grammar!" Dante tore out a hare.

"She's at home, with Grandda." Said the hare, replacing its monocle.


Meanwhile, on the other side of London...

"OCH CRIVINS!" Sykes the gardender swore as his spine siezed up and he curled into a muffin.

Back in the Internet...

"Can you cancan?" Paul asked seriously, seriously asking a question that was seriously serious.

"I can cancan, an' the toucan can cancan too." Dante nodded, causing the duck on his head to sprout.

"I say, your duck has sprouted." Dragoon commented. "Congratulations, you have a bumper crop of VOODOO."

"VOODOO?" Dante asked in horror. "Who do?"

"You do."

"I do voodoo?"

"Who do voodoo?"

"We all do voodoo!" The duck finally had enough of this and marched off in goose step. For this it was later hung, drawn and sketched before teatime by the other ducks and one very confused weasel.

"I do doodle. You do doodle too." The weasel said defensively.

"Why yes. Yes." The universe imploded.

"Someone forgot to turn the pressure on!" the endless vacuum did not hear or say or experience in any way. A hand that certainly did not exist did not flick a non-existant switch. The universe divided by binary fission.

"Our universe is asexual." Dante observed. "And I cannot help but notice that it seems to be a muffin."

"OCH CRIVINS!" Said the universe, to the merriment of all.

"You are old, Father William, the young man said. And your hair is incredably white. And yet you insist that you stand on your head, do you think at your age it is right?" Dante read from a book of poetry.

"You hate poetry." Dragoon frowned, his eyes getting tired and retreating into his skull for a nap.

"Exactly as as kings." Dante shrugged. "Feeling full for it. Exactitude as kings. So to beseech you as full as for it. Exactly or as kings. Shutters shut and open so do queens. Shutters shut and shutters and so shutters shut and shutters and so and so shutters and so shutters shut and so shutters shut and shutters and so. And so shutters shut and so and also. And also and so and so and also." Dragoon's head returned from the spiral which it had spun.

"What in the multitude of resplendent pencil leads was that all about?" He spoke with his shins.

"Ow." Said Dante. "I was reading some Gertrude Stein."

"The attention is appreciated." Gertrude Stein nodded appreciatively, before flying away on a mongoose.

"That reminds me, where is thw nazi witch riding genetically modified bees?" Paul asked quietly, for his voice was now on volume control.

"She's serving pancakes in a butcher's shop now." Dante smiled a smile of butter. It melted.

"She realised that she was outnumbered, outmatched, and had a laughable accent." Dragoon nodded two of his twelve heads.

Meanwhile, back in the blue tower...

"I say, isn't it nice when life is perfectly normal?" Dirk asked, moving King's rook to D4.

"Most enjoyable, you are quite right." Yves replied. He noticed checkmate to Dirk in two moves. "I'm afraid I have to stab you in the eyeballs now."

"Fair enough." Dirk morphed into a mammoth.

Nemo  me impune lacessit.

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Dragoon Knight was very confused - the sky seemed to be raining venom.  He considered the rules, commanding from on high, and decided that all your base are belong to us.

"Oh please don't tell me you just used that tired old meme," said The Internet.

"Plato!" cried a frightened Paul Newmann, who had long ago been a thing.  Without any warning, the Realm of the Forms happened.

"I knew it!" Dragoon Knight exclaimed, punching the air, which punched back, but (after a brief sparring session) eventually lost to the combined forces of Yves and the Dirk-Mammoth.

"Knew what, and biblically or not?" Dante queried, typewriter on standby.

"It's blue - the Realm of the Forms is blue!"

The Form of Cackling began to ring throughout the Form of a Hall that the group were currently in.  From the Form of the Floor arose a the Form of a Mosaic, which presently erupted into several billion gallons of jam.  Sorry, Form of Jam.

"I've had enough of these forms," muttered the Form of a Disgruntled Office Worker, who gathered up the entire Realm and placed it in the Form of a Shredder.

This, of course, caused a paradox, causing all involved to briefly emerge in a tardis.

"Oh it's you," said Doctor Who, gesturing to the group as a whole.

"Look, why are you-" Dragoon Knight began, before being accosted by an envelope filled with wine.

"The Woe-Post!  Unhand him!" blared Dirk, who was no longer a mammoth.  Using Yves as an impromptu weapon, he bludgeoned the Woe-Post until it released a snoozing Dragoon Knight.

"Are you alright?" asked Paul.

"The horrors you must have witnessed!" said Dante, who had eaten his left arm.

"Pretty tame, nothing I haven't seen before," he shrugged.

"GET OUT OF MY TARDIS" stomped Doctor Who.

"Look, I've had quite enough of you," said    , who had returned once again.

"Damn you,    !" Dante shouted, barely held back by Dirk and Yves.

":)" said a new arrival.  Everyone paused to witness the entry of this dread form.

"Oh.  Oh no," Dragoon Knight said, before teleporting the entourage away, leaving nothing but a bit of paper.

";D" said the dark, menacing shape as he inched his way towards the Doctor.

Picking up the slip of paper, the Doctor read, "Here's to Number elev-" before another "Doctor" began his work.

Later, in the middle of Oxford Street, pedestrians were forced to agree that Doctor Proctor's surgery was simply fantastic.

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"OH I love magic maths, I love maths I do. Mathematics is dramatic, I so love maths I do!" Sang Winifred the warbling wombat. Dante and company clapped politely as she took a bow and exited the stage. The piantist struck up a tune from his keys, which might have been more impressive if they hadn't been rabid octopi. The result was still entertaining though, and the trio sat at their table and sipped their drinks. They tried to ignore the fact that their drinks sometimes sipped back.

"So why did you build a tower in London anyway?" Paul asked through a haze of maize.

"I shall answer, in the form of BRAILLE." Dragoon grinned fiercely, proceeding to poke a rapid series of staccato beats into his forehead. Paul looked dazed, and a smidge brain damaged, but all that was sorted out with a quick bit of Italian flyswatting.

"I see." He said in the voice of the truly enlightened, which sounds remarkably like the voice of the truly concussed. "I can see CLEARLY now the rain has gone." He was immediately set upon by a feral copyright.

"How did that get in here?!" Dante shouted.

"I let it in, HA!" Shouted the swastika-posing nazi witch riding genetically modified wasps, before going back to her job as a cocktail waitress.

"Standards are slipping all over." Dragoon shook his head sadly as Paul's spleen ran down the wall behind him.

"SPLEEN?" Shouted the spleen, squelching into a vent.

"Does that mean the spleen is vented, or in the process of venting?" Dante put a small shark into Dragoon's drink.

"Well old boy, I should say that OMNOMNOMNOMNOMNOM." The shark replied, chewing its way through the glass and into Dragoon, where it pulled a lever.

"Earth!" Dragoon shouted.

"Fire!" Paul cried, crawling up from under the table.

"VEEND!" Shouted the swastika-posing nazi witch riding genetically modified wasps.

"Water!" The shark added.

"Slood!" Dante grinned. "What? It's harder to discover than fire, but only slightly easier to discover than water..." He trailed off in the face of the rabid copyright.

"SPLEEN!" The spleen shot out of the vent and back into Paul, who patted it into place and quieted his skitterish lungs with a slap.

"By your powers combined I am KIDNEY FAILURE." He announced, collapsing to the floor and bubbling gently. Abruptly the lounge slipped away into the ground, to reveal an icecap. Dragoon put it on and shivered.

"So I found this book in the retard." Paul shook his head in confusion.

"Tardis." Dragoon corrected.

"Same thing." Paul shrugged. "Anyway, this book talks about these two chicks, Malky and Musy, and they're putting on a play together."

"Right." Dante nodded, shaking a spear.

"Wrong." Dragoon contested, marring a low. The two fought briefly with spoons until Pythagoras emerged the victor.

"Now Musy's the one with all the talants, which is a kind of Persian coin, but Malky wants rid of her because she's afraid of having to share the money. I mean glory." Paul squints at the book, trying to speak in the past tense again. "Sorry, translating this from ancient Jibberjunk is a bit tricky. So what Malky does is she hatches an elaborate plot that will shock Musy so much that she'll leave the theatre. Now the plot is sprung well, and Musy recoils at once, but she says she's prepared to forgive Malky and that they can work together again."

"I fail to see the point in all this." Said a blind man.

Well, Malky can't think of a way to get out of it, so she banishes Musy from the theatre and claims that Musy's recoil is the reason why. But then when they run into each other in a bar years later Malky confesses that all she really wanted from Musy was love, and drove her out for being unable to give it."

"Why are you telling us all this? It's freakishly absurd." Dragoon calmed down at twice. A small cloud hovered by his shoulder. "Oh I say, what's this?"

"That's my bluff." Dante smiled, petting the cloud gently. "It always comes when called, so do try not to speak too loud."

"It's just that, what I really don't get is, was Malky telling the truth or not?" Paul wailed. "I don't know, it's never explained!"

"Well that's easy." Dragoon said, putting on his Einstein hat while Dante drew a blackboard out of a pigeon. "Let us say that x equals negative B plus or minus the square root of negative four."

"WRAWNG." The blackboard spat out a chalk, and then some cheese for good measure.

"Look, it's quite simple." Dragoon twiddled his moustache. "It doesn't matter whether Malky was telling the truth or not. Librarians have agreed about that for months. I mean centuries. What matters is that her statements are contradictory and therefore on at least one occasion she was lying, underhandedly attempting to remove her partner when all she really needed to do was ask nicely."

"It's especially odd since in the preceeding volume the two of them were getting on very well, having finished one production and written the script for a third." Dante nodded. "Musy actually allowed Malky into her house, a rare sign of trust for their people which was abruptly thrown in her face soon after." He turned and found Dragoon throwing his face. "Do be careful with that, it's not a discus."

"The language is so strange." Paul commented, turning the book on its side. "See here, 'Sex was strictly for my benefit-once you get past the smell, scarred breast, fungus left foot toes, extremely large arms, and wig/hair tract-white boy, it's done.' I mean, what's that supposed to mean? Is that the kind of thing you really want people reading about?"

"I'm sure there's much more where that came from." Dragoon rolled his eyes. Dante rolled them back, and he put them back into his head. "Lets just move on, we have important things to do."

"We do?" Dante seemed confused, possibly because Dragoon was alone in a small dark room. He immediately developed the film and found himself looking at a picture of the inside of a two dimensional object.

"Nosebishops." He swore quietly, as the room slowly started to revolve. Thinking quickly, Dragoon lopped off the r and the room immediately began evolving. It evolved into a bear, which gave birth using BEAR POWERS. Then Dragoon burst from its brain case.

"Mah." Said the bear cub.

"Oh you poor little thing." Dragoon said, and fed it to Mow.

"I can't help but notice that Mow." Dante observed, having been waiting in this exact spot for this exact moment for ten BILLION yeats. Yeats is like years, but more lyrical.

"Mow is a kitty." Dragoon beamed, only proving that intelligence of phrase is negatively correlated with proximity to an adorable cat.

"Yes, don't you fear for him, out in the big bad world with only Madonna for company?" Dante asked quizzically.

"Pow bam." Dragoon shook his head, which was 'not at all, for you forget that cats have claws' in no language whatsoever.

Somehow or other Paul still managed to follow them into a dimension where TIME HAS NO MEANING.

"Boy, this German class goes on forever." Dragoon observed.

"Hang on a minute," Dante interjected, hanging on a moment which was below industry standards, "you took French!"

"No no, I took the French." Dragoon corrected, pointing to a small glass case in which was the entire population of France.

"I took the pith." Paul added glumly, holding an empty orange peel and a snazzy hat.

"EXCELLENT!" Shouted a Spanish woman as she launched herself through the door and into the wall. In a muffled voice she continued, "We need someone to join the march of the Toreadors!"

"Most excellent!" Bill and Ted agreed. Dante and Dragoon exchanged glances before quietly slipping out a back window. There they found themselves in the slightly more austere march of the Tremere.

"Oop." Paul nodded, disguising himself as a layer of green paint.

"NOT green." Dragoon complained. "BLOO." And then the world turned cuboid.

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"Oh say can you SEEEEEEEE." Dragoon smashed a glass.

"No." The blind man answered grimly.

"Oh." Dragoon seemed disappointed. "I am so very sorry. Here, have this." He reverentially stuck a nose to the blind man's forehead.

"I can't help but notice that the world appears to be cuboidular." Dante observed. "Also my head appears to be full of lightning." Dragoon leaned over to peer into his ear.

"No, that's just rain in your hat." He assured.

"TIMING." Paul added.

"THAI MING." Dante contradicted. He was immediately accosted by Ming the Merciless, cheap version for low-budget fanfics.

"...It appears to be a vase with a moustache." Dante was confused.

"OCH ME SHARDS O' POWERRRRRR." Ming the Merciless minged. Or is it mung?

"Wrong story." Dragoon lamented.

"Are you Scottish or Honduran?" Paul inquired inquisitively.


"HE REMAINS AN IIIiiiiiiIIIIIING-LISHMAN!" Dragoon rocked on.

"Actually I'm Nigerian." MtM spoke up, before exploding.

"Thank god it wasn't a concrete donkey!" Dante breathed a pie of relief, choking slightly.

"Or an Indian nuclear test." Dragoon nodded, sampling a cake of indiscretion.

"Thirty four or actually as four. Nine. Ten twelve eleven at the baked goods factory. Nigh. For cranking is to cranking what kraken should rhyme with parken, not bacon or crackle." Dante said wisely, and it must have been wise because he was wearing glasses.

"French or Turk or Prussian." Dragoon agreed.

"We are young, we are free." Paul grinned. "See our friends, see the sights, feel alright." A troubled expression crossed his face. "I'm still worried about that book you know."

"Can you still not figure out the plot?" Dragoon sighed a sigh of FEATHER DUSTERS. "Falafelafelafelafelafelafelalbuquerque."

"Well see here, see what you think." Paul pulled the book from his trousers, where it had been keeping warm. "I'll quote from chapter 1: But once I

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A book closed.

"I'd like to take a moment to examine what our intrepid adventurers have accomplished so far," crooned the old man in the dressing gown, sitting in a high-backed chair, in front of a log fire.  It appeared to be quiet Autumn evening.

The man smiled demurely, taking off his glasses and cleaning them with an initialled handkerchief.

"Twelve," he stated calmly, before throwing his glasses into the fire, where they exploded with green flames, instantly engulfing the entire room.

"MY FLESH IS AS LAVA," he screamed, running around the room, flames dancing merrily about his person.

"Except no," said another, almost identical man, closing another book, which seemed to contain a full description of what had just happened.

"...aaaaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-!" came a cry from above, which was cut off abruptly as the QE2 landed, bow first, on top of the seated man.

A third book closed.  "This is-" began another old man, before being eaten by his chair.

A fourth book snapped shut.  "W-"

"DEAR GOD that's enough!" Dragoon Knight shouted, using a run of the mill vacuum cleaner to suck up the entire scene, before unfolding London from his shirt pocket.  He then produced, directed and wrote a pill, which was engraved with the words "Other Characters: Just Add Water!!".  Placing the pill on the ground, Dragoon Knight redirected the River Thames and was instantly washed downstream.

"Ovaltine," said Dante calmly, as he strolled across the river bottom.

"Not air, then?" said Death.

"I said Ovaltine, and I meant it, sir," Dante replied indignantly, attaching a lobster to Death's eye socket.

"Oh my," Death summarised, before.

"Before what?" asked Paul, causing the entire party to reappear in the top room of The Tower.

"We appear to be back, sir," Dirk intoned, unfortunately matching the resonant frequency of Yves, causing him to wobble apart most disturbingly.

"So... have we solved the mystery?" Paul asked, without moving his mouth.

"Well we know that the NWRGMW are responsible," Dragoon Knight explained, also without moving Paul's mouth, "but I think there is a more dastardly plan afoot.  Or ahand."

"Doctor Who!  Items of Food!  Smirking!  Novels by G.R.R. Martin!  Warlo-" screamed something, before being devoured by the puddle of Yves.

"I believe that Candlejack may be responsible," said Dante, "for is it not tr-

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-ue that Her lips were red, her looks were free,

Her locks were yellow as gold:

Her skin was as white as leprosy,

The Night-mare LIFE-IN-DEATH was she,

Who thicks man's blood with cold."

"...What?" Candlejack's masked face twisted into a frown. Dante sighed.

"Weren't you listening?

The naked hulk alongside came,

And the twain were casting dice;

`The game is done! I've won! I've won!'

Quoth she, and whistles thrice.

No twilight within the courts of the Sun.

The Sun's rim dips; the stars rush out:

At one stride comes the dark;

With far-heard whisper, o'er the sea,

Off shot the spectre-bark.

At the rising of the Moon,

We listened and looked sideways up!

Fear at my heart, as at a cup,

My life-blood seemed to sip!

The stars were dim, and thick the night,

The steerman's face by his lamp gleamed white ;

From the sails the dew did drip--

Till clomb above the eastern bar

The horn

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Dante and Dragoon were walking down the boulevard when suddenly they were asalted.

"Aha! Fie!" Shouted Fiona Hewitt, turning and running away. In the distance they saw her being devoured by a feral Hastie.

"Jurors, how do you find the defendents?" Judge Dredd asked from a floating podium.

"Salty!" A juror reported, chewing on Dante's shoulder.

"Stop that." Dante ceased to exist.

"How bemusing." Dragoon had someone say for him, to save effort. Dante reached down to examine the small heap of salt left from the asalting.

"I say, there appears to be a plant growing in this here salt." He observed. Dragoon paused in rubbing the salt into the open wound on his shoulder.

"So there is." He agreed, and resumed. Dante picked up the plant and squinted at it with his teeth.

"Is it an olive branch?" He asked quizzically.

"CORRECT!" A bizarre, gnome-like figure bounded onto the scene from a brightly lit stage. "You win the first prize of NAHTHING!" Orange McGrinsmile beamed, and vanished in a puff of blues music.

"By the day of the Lord, a woman. Eh?" Judge Dredd was confused, which was just as well as he soon ceased to exist.

"It's an epidemic." Dante sighed, turning back to the plant. "On closer examination, this is not Olea europaea as I thought, but Olea infidus. You see, to believe this was an olive branch would require acceptance of being wrong about everything. In other words, I would have to accept that she crossed the Atlantic twice and at the same time enacted an email campaign through friends to be rid of me. Does that sound likely?" Dragoon shook his feet. "And then immediately after concluding the biggest single block of work for a long time, Malky and Musy's third play, she decides to put on a big show to push me away? Unless she thought she had everytying she could get from me, that doesn't make sense either."

"What if you ignore the later insults, and attribute it all to the wounded esteem of a scorned woman?" The olive branch asked in a wooden voice. "You weren't exactly delicate china."

"Then I would have to accept the version of events put forth in this thread," Dante said, picking up a ball of wool. "That she has been trying to get rid of me for months anyway." He began to unravel the wool, apparantly reading it. "I was cold, yes, but within reason, and I was logical. Always logical." He spun around and turned into a purple anemone. "So first I'm just another run of the mill electrical device used for cooling, when I could prove otherwise. Then I'm a leech attempting to suck the blood from another, when I was always only ever trying to improve their work. One doesn't do that to work above one's own standard. You see what I'm getting at?"

"NO." Replied the blind man.

"Essentially what you're saying," said Paul, "is that either Malky loved Musy but lied about it later, or that she hated Musy but told her it was love to get rid of her."

"I hope you're taking notes." Dante looked sidelong at the olive branch, which was carefully hammering planks of wood together. "In either case there was deception. How is trust supposed to grow from that? How am I supposed to admit that anybody was right without knowing which version of their story they want me to accept?"

"I suggest you ask mysticsquid." Dragoon nodded. His eyes went wide, "No! Wait! Forget I-"

"Too late!" Dante crowed, and the floor erupted with tentacles.

"OH GOD THE PROBING." Paul cried.

"Nonsense." Dante scoffed. "If anything it's more of a burrowing."

"I am the Mysticsquid." A voice filled the room, which now smelled vaguely of seawater and suchi. "What do you desire of me?"

"A little more to the left?" Dante asked.

"Which version of the story should we accept, that of the wool or that of the branch?" Dragoon kept his expression firm, somehow.

"Move 'em on, hit 'em up, hit 'em up, move 'em on, move 'em on, hit 'em up Rawhide!" Paul cried in ecstacy. The olive branch was now carefully sewing together a matress and placing it on the wooden framework.

"Cut 'em up?" Dante suggested.

"Ride 'em in." Dragoon affirmed.

"Ride 'em in." Paul agreed.

"Cut 'em out." Dragoon shook his head.

"Cut 'em out, ride 'em in Rawhide." Mysticsquid joined in. "Was there not another chapter to this tale?"

"Yes! This book!" Paul agreed, reaching into his trousers. "Oh hey, that's not a book. I'd better put that back. No, this book!" He produced the Babble Aquatica.

"Actually I meant this book." An arm rose from Paul's trousers, carrying the Collected tales of Malky and Musy.

"But that's four different versions of events!" Dragoon complained. "Is there no consistancy?"

"Of course." The Mysticsquid answered. "Would you like a sort of putty-like consistancy, soft and pliable, or FIRM?"

"Firm is good." Dante nodded.

"And for the last round of tonight's quiz!" Orange McGrinsmile beamed, holding a small stack of white cards. "For the win, Dante, are you a forgiving sort?"

"I like to think so." Dante shrugged. "I've forgiven people for deception before, as well as jealousy, honest mistakes, misconceptions, conceptions, blasphemy, taking my name in vain, genocide, loitering with intent, loitering within tent, playing saxophone on a Tuesday without a hedgehog, smoking in non-smoking areas, even giving me the silent treatment for months."

"Well then, it looks like-"

"But." Dante interrupted Orange McGrinsmile in mid-beam. "I once said that the thing I find most offensive is a personal insult. Before we came to London I was personally insulted by someone who knew this, and who went on to indirectly insult my friends and family. That I cannot abide and will not forgive." Orange McGrinsmile turned upsidedown and became a giant frown.

"So you remain a lazy bum?!" The frown accused.

"I was never lazy." Paul shrugged. "I have my own life."

"Not anymore!" The Mysticsquid did something wet, and Paul was suddenly no more. "Was that good for you?"

"Very." Dante nodded.

"Not anymore!"

"OH GOD THE- Oh. Um."

"I... I don't understand. This has never happened to me before."

"There there." Dante sighed. "Now, pie." A custard pie smacked him in the face, followed by one for Dragoon. "Thank you."

"I don't like custard!" Dragoon protested. A second pie, blueberry, followed the first. "Better. Sister Susie is sewing shirts for soldiers. The shirts that sister Susie sews-"

"are seashells I'm sure?" The Olive branch suggested, midway through sewing a sheet out of seashells. Dragoon turned an eye of fire upon him and brought out six thick thistle sticks.

"I can't say that with a mouthful of marshmallows!" Paul protested partly painted puce.

"Button button, who's got the button?" Dragoon asked.

"Is it a big red one marked 'DO NOT PUSH'?" Dante asked, innocently pushing something behind his back.

"Why ye-" Dragoon was cut off, as he was disassembled into component molecules.

For a while there was nothing.

Then it exploded.

For several trillion years, matter simply busied itself with the difficult task of being hydrogen or helium. Eventually it got around to being things like iron and oxygen, and started to play with its new toy, gravity.

A lot of time passed.

The matter became quite complicated, and arranged itself into all sorts of cool patterns and systems using gravity, and a cheat code called electromagnetism. Sooner or later it developed a fetish for spheres, and started to make them whenever it could. It had so many different ones, and they were all different. Like pok

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  • 9 months later...

what happened?? hit on the starboard side no damage spotted, sir.

-that good, that good.

--captain two missiles  north and west.

hard to port..

- thrusters wont move , sir.

we are trapped.decrease speed to 170km/h

--captain  one missile evaded. but north one will

.. bring on engineering.


--we must have setup second headquarter

what happened?

-- our command bridge is destroyed sir. we are now only 110km/h  our artillery is useless. enemy is at ranke 0,0045 au .

-launch fighters!!!

-- our launch array is out of action use hangar manually.

we cannot do anything?

- no. we are  burning flying wreck.

-- teen turrets destroyed exacly  twelf sir.

end of part 1

part 2.

--captain, we are able to  change direction. we managed to connect steerign gear to reactor cooling system, temperature will increase hardly but atleast we can evade.

- what will happen?

-- our battlecruiser  enane will be able to get into starport. but we must survive.

- we cannot  do it.. we not control ship anymore. bridge is out, auxillary  control systems are gone.  whole forward section of ship is destroyed.

-- launch sajuuk

- what?

sajuuk is good  ship. we can use it as tug to  tow our wreck.

-- never.  the sajuuk is too powerful we cant waste it for this task. abadon ship. evacuate all personnel. i stay  and i will die

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"WHAT," Dragoon Knight exclaimed, looking upwards.

"Would you keep it down?!" growled months of inactivity.

"WHAT," repeated the monosyllabic master of the Tower, unable to tear his gaze from the sublime art poised above him.

"What the hell are you looking aaaaaa-AAAAAAAAAA-" screamed Paul, who had just rolled out from underneath approximately 9 months' worth of dust and made the mistake of following Dragoon Knight's gaze.

A door opened in Peru.  It had no bearing on these events whatsoever.

Another door opened, slightly closer to home.  It was the door to Dragoon Knight's study atop the Tower, which was somehow still there, poised atop Buckingham Crater.  In stepped Dante, who took one look up before deciding that NO.

All existence was temporarily turned off for maintenance.  Hundreds of unpaid labourers were drafted in from Madeupistan to install a roof on the universe.  It was all going so well, until one of the cleaning staff accidentally unplugged the servers that run all things so she could do the hoovering.  Everything ended.

God, who up until now had been trying to ignore all of this (everything, from the original explosion of the Tower), gripped the edges of his newspaper.

"FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF-" he vented, ripping the publication in two.  He arose from his cloudy recliner with the look of a madman.  He snapped his fingers, and in front of him appeared Dragoon Knight.

"God.jpg," said God.

"How did you do that... with the picture..." Dragoon Knight asked with interest, free for the first year then 21.9% APR variable.

"SERIOUSLY, WHAT THE FUCK." God proclaimed.

"Look, no-one's doing any harm here..."


"Yes, but-"


"We've done it before!  We've done worse before!" Dragoon Knight protested, complete with a sign and a loudspeaker.


"Are you technically allowed to say god-damn?"

Suddenly, Gandalf.

"Fly, Shadowfax!" exclaimed Gandalf.

"Thank goodness for that," Dragoon Knight said dismissively, turning two clouds into Dirk and Yves before rooting around; he was looking for something.

"NO.  NOT FUCKING GANDALF." God said, sounding increasingly distressed by the turn of events.

"I'm afraid Gandalf," said Dante, who had now always been there.  He was holding a t-shirt and a marker pen in a disarmingly innocent manner.

"There is little time!" Gandalf shouted happily, just to confirm that, yes, in fact, motherfucking Gandalf.


"Best not to worry about it, really," Dante said soothingly.  He was writing something on the t-shirt.

"OK, NOW THIS IS HAPPENING." God blared.  Grinning widely, he brought out a Bible from the folds of his robes.  Flicking through the pages until he found the correct spot, he ripped out the entire New Testament and rammed it into his mouth.


"Oh my," Dante said, putting the top back on the marker with exaggerated care.  Dragoon Knight had apparently found what he was looking for, and jogged off behind a particularly large cumulonimbus.


Dante put on the t-shirt.  On the front were the words "I R GOD".

"I.  Too late." said Dante.


"II.  I said you're too late."


"III.  You don't seem to be listening."

"There we go!" came Dragoon Knight's cry of victory - he had managed to plug Existence back in.

"IV.  That cleaning lady is so fired."

"Aieeeeee!" came the blood-curdling scream of a decidedly immolated Mavis the Cleaning Lady.

"V.  Mwahahaha- I mean, oops."


"VI.  Yes I can."


"VII.  No you're not."


"IX.  This is my care face."


"Time to go now, methinks," Dragoon Knight smiled, donning a t-shirt of his own.  It read "I R SOD".

"X.  Phooey."

"1.  Yes, now let's go before this speech becomes too confusing."

"XI.  We're not going to have a battle, pitching the powers of God against Sod?"

"2.  Nah."

With that, everything returned to exactly as it was before Dante stepped in the door.

With his eyes half-shut, Dragoon Knight looked upwards tentatively, then sighed with relief.  "I can't see it anymore - not through all that crap!" he proclaimed happily.

"Gery sood, vir," said Dirk and Yves, who hadn't come back entirely unscathed and were currently partly melded with the office furniture.

"What.  The hell.  Just happened," Paul asked, still dusting himself off.

"Nothing important," Dragoon Knight reassured him, before continuing.  "Now... where were we?"

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  • 6 months later...

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