Anyone want to write a story?

[plthijinx]

[jaws]plthijinx: "we're gonna need a bigger plane!"[/jaws]
plthijinx "bruce, does your buddy still have that secret retro-fitted valkyrie xb70? and if so, we HAVE to have it for me to do the advanced EEASC manuevers! also if you can call in the ospry's that would help us with our escape! about that time, 30 seconds to mars starts blaring on the stereo "attack"

[Cyclefrance]

The Cellarites increasingly packed limo sped towards Cyclefrance (luckily it was an instantly-adjustable stretch limo which made it possible to accommodate all these extra occupants), who was busily trying to work out what the strange object he was holding actually, well, was. He'd seen it poking out of the bunch of onions that he always had strapped either side of his handlebars. His memory was getting bad - for the life of him, he couldn't remember when he'd put those onions there, or for that matter why, but he was sure he hadn't included this object. There was some writing on the side. He started to read: The Omega Fully Patented Space Time....-

At this precise moment a lot of shouting coming from the limousine caused Cyclefrance to look up. 'What a noisy bunch,’ he thought – ‘strange looking dog....Hey, wait a minute!’ one of them seemed to be shaking a fist at him and shouting as well...

The car sped past, xoxoxoBruce's words rising and fading the way they do when a fast car goes by (you know a bit like when a police car goes by with its siren blaring). and, unfortunately for Cyclefrance, he had managed to break the cyclist's golden rule by stopping immediately adjacent to a large puddle left by the recent storm.

A wall of water gracefully rose from the roadside as the limo passed, seemed to hang in the air for the merest fraction of a second, as if pondering whether to complete its intended finale or not, then the decision having been taken, it proceeded to cascade in one huge gush all over Cyclefrance (quite beautiful in away, although Cyclefrance didn't quite appreciate this...)

Distilla-t-i-on...( he looked up) bla-. He didn't quite finish. In fact he found himself saying something else, and quite loudly, in the direction of the limousine:

'You fucking basta-'

This just wasn't Cyclefrance's night! A huge Hummer sped past at that very second, just as the storm water had re-gathered itself into a nice big puddle again.

SPURRRRRALASSSSHHHH!

'..r-d-s!????'

Right, thought CF, that's it, a cyclist can take so much. He threw his bike to the ground, and grabbed the Distillation Blaster resting it upon his shoulder and gazed through the sight-piece, pointing it towards the distant Hummer. 'My God it seems a hell of a way away' he said to himself, and he pressed the 'fire' button (handily marked ‘fire button’ - useful that). A laser blast (naturally) of pure energy shot from the blaster. Unfortunately, this was in the opposite direction to the one he had intended, as Cyclfrance had the thing the wrong way round.

'Oops!' A grand old oak tree, just about to celebrate two hundred years of existence and feeling very proud of itself as a result suddenly disappeared in a flash of quite astounding brilliance.

Seems it was not his night either.

‘Oh, dear…!’ Cyclefrance looked at the blaster whose strap still hung around his shoulder,’that wasn’t meant to happ-’

Sun Sparkz, clad in a very fetching all-in-one red leather biker’s number shot past CF, missing the puddle (such a nice girl), but unfortunately catching the blaster’s strap in her handle bar.

‘Werrerrerggh – oh!’ Cyclefrance found himself behind Sun Sparkz and astride the pillion seat.

‘Hi CF – messed that up a bit didn’t you – you’d better give the blaster to me in a moment, hang on!

And she gunned her flame red (color co-ordination is so important) Kawasaki 636 towards the Hummer at speed, an extremely damp CF, and a trailing line of onions behind (yes, they had somehow got caught up in CF’s apparel as well!)

The on-board stereo of Sparkz’s bike (well, a girl can’t do without music now, can she) thumped away – it was N.E.R.D: ‘She's sexy!! Her youth ... She's sexy!!.’

‘Oh, I say, this is rather nice..’

‘For you, maybe (CF noticed an Australian twang to her words) – I don’t mind you holding on like that – but don’t go getting any ideas – and do your hands really have to be that high?? – Take it easy, cobber, we’ve more important things to do - we’ve a world to save!’

And she turned the accelerator grip even further, adding another 20 mph to their already phenomenal speed…

Thanks to Zip's quick thinking, our heroes make it to the airport with minutes to spare in front of the extremely stinkeriferous Lewinsky-mobile.

Plthjinx jumps out of the limo ahead of the rest (after all, airports are HIS turf!) "That way, everybody," he shouts and points to a darkened hanger with a LARGE sign reading "AIR CRAFT MAINTENANCE - VERY BORRRRING!" Underneath these words is a second, smaller notice which reads: WARNING! UNAUTHORIZED PERSONNEL WILL BE SUBJECT TO SEIZURE OF THEIR CAT AND GRANDMOTHER BY THE CIA. DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT!

Clodfobble objected, "I HATE being bored! Looks like there's a nice 747 over there on runway 9 that we could hi-jack. I bet it would be very comfy, too."

But Sheila/Phtrethnog exclaimed, "Hey! I'd love to see them even try to do anything with "my" cat or my grandmother! I'd tell them that I owned the feline which adores black plastic objects. What was left of the CIA after the cat got through with them would then have to take on my sweet old grannie who has 72 tentacles, 8 heads, teeth like razor blades, and is bored as hell back in the old alien's home on Alpha Centauri. You should see what she can do with a crochet hook! On second thought, you don't even want to know what her crochet projects look like!"

Bruce gives Ptlhjinx a look which is a mixture of outright admiration and frank disbelief. "You’re not telling me that you can fly that thing, are you?"

The brash pilot grins and says, "Can Cyclefrance ride a tricycle? Of course, I can fly it!"

This assurance is good enough for the gang of Dwellers who make a dash toward the hanger, following hot on Ptlhjinx's heels.

Good thing Cyclefrance and Sunsparkz had made it there first. Upon their arrival they had observed the CIA agent who was supposed to be doing his turn on guard duty being beckoned toward the janitor’s closet by Lewinsky no. 7. “Mr. Libby told me to tell you that I suck but I don’t swallow,” no.7 informed the mesmerized agent. “Wanna see?” Obviously deeply concerned for the threat such an action might pose to National Security, the agent had unbuckled his belt and followed the Lewinsky into the closet.

Thinking fast, Cyclefrance grabbed the distillation blaster back from SunSparkz and aimed...

Then he remembered to turn the blaster round in the direction of the janitor’s closet. Shall we say that the agent and the Lewinsky went out with a bang?

A few minutes later a mysterious aircraft began to taxi at an alarming rate of speed down the airport’s main runway. This plane was no Valkyrie! Only Bruce and Ptlhjinx and maybe three other people on the face of earth knew that the thing was an Aurora.

The pilots and crews of the other aircraft waiting on the various airport runways knew only that they had been told that all takeoffs had been cancelled indefinately. The chief air traffic controller had just recieved a message that the CIA had his cat. No plane other than the Aurora would be cleared for take-off until he saw “Snookems” safe and sound with his own beady little eyes.

“Can I do a good imitation of a spook or what?” Busterb crowed excitely.

Sheila replied, “Almost as good as I can imitate being a D O G,” and rolled her eyes heavenward.

The Aurora quickly reached a cruising altitude of 21 miles and setled into a soothing speed of mach 5. Ptlhjinx’s voice came over the intercom. “this is your pilot speaking. I would like to thank you all for choosing to fly with Area 51 Airlines. We’ll be reaching Alpha Centauri in about 7 light years. Ground weather at Centauri Global Airport is predicted to be a mild drizzle of methane. We will have one brief stop in LJ’s backyard. Enjoy your flight!”

Clodfobble appeared walking down the aisle with a tray of dog bisquits and Cuervo which she handed out to each passenger.

Zippy apologized profusely to Cyclefrance for the mud puddle. Always the proper English gentleman, Cyclefrance accepted Zippy’s apology and a large dog bisquit from Clodfobble.

Meanwhile, back on the ground, the 6 remaining Lewinsky’s had piled into a phone booth to call the mother ship and were arguing with the operator about the area code. The operator put the Lewinsky’s on hold while she consulted with her supervisor and added a quick coat of polish to her nails. The operator thoughtfully switched on the phone hold muzak to entertain the Lewinsky’s as they waited. It was Sarah McLaughlin’s “Building a Mystery”...

[Cyclefrance]

'It's very crowded in here,' Harnog shuffled uneasily, trying to gain a few extra inches of space - not much chance there. 'Not sure I can keep my buttocks clenched any longer.’

‘We’ve waited long enough’, said Slarvos. ‘They’re not coming back, we’ve just been left hanging on to thin air.’ A very small squeak invaded the tight silence. Qarvop blushed.

‘Sorry…!’

‘You of all people. That’s it we’re getting out of here. Look, over there , another phone box. Looks like one of those old British Police jobbies with the blue light on top as well.’

They burst out of the phone booth and wobbled and farted their way across to the blue police phone box (they hadn’t had a chance to do anything about those broken heels yet!).

‘Hmm. Seems to be locked. Let me see’ Slarvos reached into his handbag, took out his Universal Electronic Lock Descrambler, and placed it next to the keyhole. A slight humming, a few lights, a bit if vibration, some steam, then some beeps, some more humming, lights again…

‘Are you sure this is working…?’

‘Give it time – the old locks always take a bit longer!’

Some more steam, then vibrations and … The Descrambler stopped, and the door to the police phone box unclicked, and swung slightly ajar.

Everyone entered except Slarvos:’Won’t be a minute just need to get rid of something’

The other five Monicas entered just in time to hear a rather loud thunderous buttock growl behind them.

‘That’s better’, said Slarvos, and walked towards the door only to find it had closed on him. ‘ Jesus, can they do nothing right…!?’ He took the Descrambler out of his handbag again….

Inside the five other Monicas were all standing with their mouths open.

‘Ooooooo, it’s enormous in here, and yet it looks so small from the outside. Doesn’t look much like any phone box I know. I suppose this is where we place the call.’ Bondriz walked about twenty feet to the center of the ‘box’ where there was some kind of round console. All flashing lights, knobs and levers – and a big clear plasticky looking cylinder that was moving slowly up and down making a strange grating whoooing noise. Looked more like something out of a 1960’s television programme than anything – you know, the sort of programme that suddenly makes a comeback in the new millennium.

‘Let’s see. I think we should press…..this one.’ A manicured nail arced through the air and landed gently but firmly on the green button. The lights flashed more brilliantly, the central cylinder picked up speed, the grating whoooing noise increased.

‘Are you sure you know what you are doing…???’

Outside the Descrambler fell to the ground, and Slarvos saw himself staring at nothing but a strange grating noise.

‘’What the…?!?’

‘Here, young lady – eugh, sorry, forget that – mutton dressed up as lamb comes nowhere near it! Anyway where was I – Oh yes, what do you think you are doing?’ An eccentric looking male figure (who bore an uncanny resemblance to Slang*, but was clearly somebody else) had just burst round the corner accompanied by a quite nice looking young female assistant. ‘Where’s my time mach- I mean police box. What have you done…..’

'It was definitely him, Doctor,' the attractive female assistant (who looked a lot like that nice singer turned actress Billy Piper) explained. 'He attached some small round thing to it and then it disappeared!'

Slarvos wasn’t about to stay even to try to explain what had really happened. He’d clearly seen the last of the other five Monicas. Now it was up to him alone to warn the mother ship and to try to put things back in order. He raced towards the hangar. He knew that his only chance was to get back to the ship himself. Not so easy. He didn’t need a space craft as such. Just something that would take him 30,000 feet above the ground so that he could tune in his Everyman Portable Demogriphicating Alien Transportation Device to the mother ship’s onboard desktop version. And there it was a nice little Learjet. Ideal!

‘Coo-eee’ He called to the mechanic, who stopped, looked and immediately responded to Slarvos’s beckoning wave. I won’t go into the horrifying details of what followed, but let’s say that apart from the obviously mortifying shriveled up frame of the mechanic that was left at the end, his face was at least frozen into a smile!

The radio resting on the wing was still playing: More Sinatra: ‘Fly me to the moon and let me-‘ No time for that. Slarvos switched it off and climbed into the plane. Five minutes later he was heading towards the runway and effecting a most illegal but nevertheless perfect take-off…


*in the UK writing world, this is called 'poetic licence'** - but in the writers world of the Cellar, it means I forgot to introduce a Cellarite!


**or should that be 'prosaic licence...??

The pilots still standing by with great impatience on the airport's runways had never heard such language from the control tower in all their lives!

"You blankety blank, expletive deleted, son of a bitch! Air traffic control did NOT authorize your take-off! Hear that, CIA? That Leer Jet was not authorized to move an inch on the runway, never mind take off! Ooooh, Snookems! Shoot the bastard in that air craft down! Nuke Canada! Just give me my ibby bibby baby back! Snookems! Hang on! I'll buy your favorite kitty treats for you!"

Ptlhjinx listened to the airwaves with astonishment and turned in surprise to Sheila who was sitting in the co-pilot's seat gnawing a Milk Bone(tm).

"What the hell is THAT about?"

"Cat's!" opined Sheila. "Can't live with them; can't live without them. Can this thing shoot down a Leer Jet?"

"We can shoot down anything that moves except that we are currently in the air space over the United Kingdom," replied Ptlhjinx. "The UK's Department of Social Scrutiny requires that anyone who shoots down a Leer Jet over British soil first fill out an anti-avionics permit request form in triplicate. The form has to be signed by both Winston Churchill and Prince Andrew. Churchill's signature is no problem. One of us can just hijack that time machine that just flew past with the 5 Lewinsky's in it. Prince Andrew is being a brat about anti-avionics permits these days, however. Something about the Queen taking away his Piper Cub because he didn't make curfew one night last month."

Sheila loked serious for moment - as serious as a D O G with its mouth full of Milk Bone(tm) can look, anyhow. Then she got an idea.

"I say old chap, Cyclefrance is British, isn't he? Perhaps he could put in a word with Prince Andrew or even the Department of Social Scutiny. He does have both a poetic and prosaic licence. I believe the Brits are impressed by such things. Let's ask him!

Busterb had strolled up to the cockpit in time to overhear this conversation. "I say just shoot the damn thing down without the permit. We could say the Welsh did it, Take 'em years to figure it out!"

"Where is Wolf with her Glock when we need her?" Sheila asked in exasperation.

The Aurora's radio suddenly began to emit Pat Benadar's song, "Hit me with your best shot! Fire away!"

[Cyclefrance]

Reader notice:

You will require ‘split brain image’ technology to fully enjoy the next instalment of this amazing story. The latest version of this imagery can be downloaded from:

'www.brain-image-implants/it-wont-hurt-at-all/oh-OK-it-will-hurt-a-bit-well-quite-a-lot-to-be-honest.com'

or else you’ll just have to use your imagination (that might be the better option if you want my opinion)


The brain image splits into three distinct scenes – so far without sound. The first scene is the bridge of the Klarnak mother ship where commander Smarjanth (who unfortunately suffers from tourette’s syndrome), is assessing the current situation. In the second scene we see Slarvos at the controls of the Lear jet, and in the third scene we see our merry Cellarites aboard the Aurora.


The first screen brightens and sound volume increases to an acceptable level:

‘First Officer Qvargist, ARSEHOLE!, I don’t like the way this is going. We haven’t had a signal from our PISSHEAD! Earth transmitter for several hours at least now, have we?

‘Er, ….no, sir,’ Qvargist, had been serving under Smarjanth for several months, but he just couldn’t get used to the commander’s problem with speaking – it was all too close to being personal….he farted quietly to himself, and replied: ‘There’s nothing to say it is a malfunction and I haven’t been able to raise any of the advance guard as yet.’

‘So I gather. Well, I’m not waiting much longer WANKER!. Tell the crew we’re going to amber alert now! What the…. SUCK MY PRICK!!’ For once Smarjanth said something that made sense – he stared through the forward window to see a blue box-like object go spinning past, a light flashing away on its top, and what seemed to be five very similar female faces pressed against the small area of glass that was set into what he could only imagine to be some sort of door.

‘It’s no good. All this invasion stuff is starting to get at me, get me my medication will you, BOLLOCK-BRAIN! Qvargist? I think I need an extra dose…! In fact , I think I’ll have a lie down… Red alert in one hour if no change – you can GO SHIT YOURSELF! take care of that can’t you?

‘Er…. Yes,sir…’


The first image and volume fades, and at the same time the second image brightens and sound is available.

‘Here we are. 30,000 feet. That should do nicely.’ Slarvos opened his handbag and took out the portable transportation device. He pressed the ‘on’ switch and the object started to hum quietly.

‘Just need to set the co-ordinates and I’ll soon be back on the mother ship….’

‘Not if I have my way you won’t!’ Slarvos turned sharply in the direction of the voice. ‘YOU!!’ he exclaimed

The man facing him (her?) was dressed in camouflage fatigues and was pointing an automatic at Slarvos.

Urbane Guerilla spoke: ‘Didn’t think you’d lost me did you. I’ve had you in my sights for a long time, ever since that incident in the alley. I was following you as you gave chase. I saw your Hummer go into the lake. I kept low. BusterB was rescued by the ‘copter, and then you re-appeared, as I thought you would. It didn’t take long before your, heh, ‘sisters’ arrived. You were so busy arguing that you didn’t see me slip into the trunk. I’ve been with you ever since. Getting into the Lear was easy after that. Now your times up, asshole! Any last…..’

UG stopped suddenly. Were his eyes playing tricks? He gazed past Slarvos to where he could see, through the cockpit window, the Aurora, some distance away. Did his eyes deceive him – the Aurora had just fired a missile and it was heading directly at them!

Slarvos, noticed UG’s hesitation, and glanced back over his shoulder Oh, Shit! Turning back to UG he saw that his attention was still averted. Slarvos quietly set the coordinates on the transporter…..

If it hadn’t been for the small light on the transporter, Urbane Guerilla wouldn’t have noticed Slarvos’ movements.

‘Good bye.’ Slarvos smiled…

‘No you don’t!’ UG leapt at Slarvos, grasping at him and grabbing his clothing.

‘Oooooh, you naughty boy…!’

And with that they both disappeared (just like that!), which was a good job really as a split second later the missile hit the Lear jet and there was a really nice explosion, with smoke, flames and bits of metal flying off in all directions, just as you’d expect in such a classy production as this.


The second image and sound now fades. The third image….. the third image…. The third image…… now what?

Hang on a minute, I seem to have lost the remote. No, wait, no I haven’t….. I think I’ve found it. Right. Let’s try this button. Oh, no, it’s the remote for the CD player. Marichiko must have nipped in and taken the other one while I wasn’t looking – well it is her story I suppose….

What IS that playing? Oh it’s Moody Blues, War of the Worlds. How appropriate:

"The chances of anything coming from Mars are a million to one," he said.
"The chances of anything coming from Mars are a million to one - but still they come!"

Originally Posted by Cyclefrance

Hang on a minute, I seem to have lost the remote. No, wait, no I haven’t….. I think I’ve found it. Right. Let’s try this button. Oh, no, it’s the remote for the CD player. Marichiko must have nipped in and taken the other one while I wasn’t looking – well it is her story I suppose….

Marichiko stares at the screen in amazement. HER story? The damn thing has definately taken on a life of its own, and she's just along for the ride! "Heh, heh!" she thinks. "Cyclefrance thinks I stole his remote when actually I got a hold of his prosaic licence. Let's see him try to write without that!"

Meanwhile back at the ranch...

It was a dark and stormy night. The neighbor's cat had just shredded LJ's trash bag for the kazillionith time when gunshots were heard coming from across the street 3 houses down. LJ leaned out his window and hollered "COCK!" - perhaps at the cat or perhaps at the sound of the gunshots which had rudely awakened him from his slumbers. Busterb emerged from a darkened alley with his faithful dog, Sheila, hopped into his car and drove off with the CD player blaring "Send Lawyers, Guns and Money"...

Yes, the 5 Lewinsky's had managed to land themselves back in time to the beginning of our story. They climbed out of the blue police call box, blinking their eyes in confusion. The smell of methane permeated the night air...

Ah, the chance to live our lives over again! Would we do things differently or being who we are, would we be forced to proceed on the same old collision course with fate? The Lewinsky's chose the same old, same old, but were now several hours behind everyone else. In fact, they were further detained by the sudden appearance of LJ toting a shotgun and ordering them to stay right where they were until the police arrived. Nothing worse than getting the chance to relive your life and messing it up even worse than the first time around, as the 5 Lewinsky's and survivers everywhere of encounters with space aliens can attest.

Slarvos and UG were feeling a bit disconcerted themselves when they suddenly appeared in two passenger seats on board the Aurora amidst a festive party of Dwellers, Cuervo and dog bisquits. Slarvos had locked on the wrong co-ordinates with his transportation device. It was minor mistakes like this which had kept him at the level of Corporal in the Klarnak Alien Invasion Army for years.

"Don't worry, everyone. I've got him covered!" announced UG to the plucky band of Cellarites who had long since stopped being surprised by anything that had happened in their lives in the past few hours.

"Good job, UG! Have a shot of tequilla!" exclaimed Patrick. "Shall we notify Sheila that we have a Klarnak aboard?"

But Sheila had already entered the cabin, her fur bristling on end and her eyes red with rage.

Slarvos farted loudly.

UT anxiously fiddled with the controls of his computer screens. Damn hackers! Or was it the "This is not porn" crowd? At any rate, the screen showing the doings on board the Klarnak Mothership remained frustratingly blank.

Maybe it was the Sony virus. Or maybe it was a stupid thing that seemed like a good idea at the time. UT quickly typed a message in the "Generic Support Group" thread, "BigV, know anything about bugs?"

BigV typed back, "I know plenty about liquid nitrogen, but I only got a "C" in entomology. How can I be of service?"

Marichiko slipped Mary Chapin Carpenter's song, "Sometimes you're the windshield; sometimes you're the bug" into her CD player and waited with baited breath...