[Continued from Part 3]
[Back on the SOL]
Crow: I think I've finally figured out how this Jim Theis guy thinks.
Tom: Jim Theis =thinks=?
Crow: Sure. You just have to get yourself into a certain frame of mind.
Here, you say something, and I'll say it like Jim would say it.
Tom: Umm... "Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth upon
this continent a new nation."
Crow: Easy. "Four, or maybe five, it cannot be told, scorr and also sevn
revolutions around the red orb of heat, those warrors who bought us life
to us and belong to us and also upon this sward, a land less ancient than
the moulderng corpse starng blindly at Grignr."
Mike: Wow! That was really something! Try this: "I have a dream that one
day my four little children will be judged not by the color of their skin
but by the content of their character."
Crow: No problem. "As Grignr sleeping, morbid notions prnacing morbidly
into his oval. `The reddish orb of heat beng in the crimson sky.' Stated
the terrible fetid nightmar. And his ofspring of four -- or maybe forty,
however it may be -- will hav the dark morbid hand of blood juridicating
over all of Ecordia. `Not red! Not reddish! not crimson! Not rose red!
Not blood red!' Sayeth Dsipk the judge. But by the fetid entrails will
the small rodents be accontd."
Gypsy: Hey, guys, whatcha doin'?
Tom: Gypsy, say something!
Gypsy: What should I say?
Mike: Anything! Whatever pops into your head.
Gypsy: Richard Basehart!
Crow: "Possesed of many baubles, the Sward unyielding to grignr, less noble
than a fetid dog! Organ of blood pumping."
Mike: That was just beautiful.
Tom: Now never, ever do it again.
All: We've got STORY SIGN!
Crow: Beady organs of--
Tom: The moment's over, Crow.
> "Up to the altar and be done with it wench;" ordered a fidgeting
Mike: He's got a mild case of Tourette's.
>as he gave the female a grim stare accompanied by the wrinkling of
>his lips to a mirthful grin of delight.
Tom: He's the laughing-on-the-outside, crying-on-the-inside kind of shaman.
> The girl burst
>into a slow steady whimper, stooping shakily to her
>knees and cringing woefully from the priest with both arms wound snake-like
>around the bulging jade jade shin
Mike: It's a Jade, Jade, Jade, Jade, Jade, Jade Shin!
>rising before her scantily attired
Crow: How come you never find a damsel in distress wearing a parka?
>figure. Her face was redly inflamed
Tom: It looked just like a big emerald.
>from the salty flow of tears spouting
>from her glassy dilated eyeballs.
Mike: Hmm. Miss, I'm going to have to ask you to step out of the car.
> With short, heavy footfals the priest approached the female, his
>piercing stare never wavering from her quivering young countenance.
>Halting before the terrified girl he projected his
Mike: --own neuroses onto her. It's textbook.
>arm outward and motioned
>her to arise with an upward movement of his hand. the girl's whimpering
Tom: After his discourse on Grignr's eating habits, I'm sure Jim's got a
metronome tracking the girl's whimpering.
>and she sunk closer to the floor rather than arising.
Crow: Aww, couldn't she do both?
>The flickering torches outlined her trim build with a weird ornate glow as
>it cast a ghostly shadow dancing in horrid waves of splendor over smoothly
>worn whiteness of the marble hewn altar.
> The shaman's lips curled back farther, exposing
Tom: --his entire jaw and most of his sinuses.
>a set of blackened, decaying molars
Mike: Maybe he should consider switching to a toothpaste with baking soda.
>which transformed his slovenly grin into a wide greasy arc
>of sadistic mirth
Crow: This guy is the happiest sadist I've ever met.
Tom: Mike, is it okay if I hit him?
Mike: Only if you promise not to stop.
>and alternately interposed into the female a strong
>sensation of stomach curdling nausea. "Have it as you will female;"
>gloated the enhanced priest as he bent over at the waist,
Mike: He considered bending halfway up his torso, but thought the better
>ape-like arms forward, and clasped the female's slender arms with his hairy
>round fists. With an inward surge of of his biceps he
Crow: --tried to improve his bustline, but it was no use.
>harshly jerked the
>trembling girl to her feet and smothered her salty wet cheeks with the
>moldy touch of his decrepid, dull red lips.
Tom: They were like a pair of emeralds.
> The vile stench of the Shaman's hot fetid breath over came the
>nauseated female with a deep soul searing sickness, causing her to wrench
>her head backwards and regurgitate a slimy, orange- white stream
Crow: She must've been eating an orange creamsicle before she was kidnapped.
>of swelling gore
Mike: Albert's cousin from Wyoming.
>over the richly woven purple robe of the enthused acolyte.
Tom: He's enthused? He must've just disemboweled somebody.
> The priest's lips trembled with a malicious rage as he removed his
>callous paws from the girl's arms and replaced them with
Crow: --brand-new top-of-the-line callous paws with a graphite core for
extra power and stability.
>tightly around her
>undulating neck, shaking her violently to and fro.
Mike: Gimme your lunch money! C'mon! Gimme it!
> The girl gasped a tortured groan from her clamped lungs, her sea blue
>eyes bulging forth from damp sockets. Cocking her right foot backwards,
>she leashed it desperately outwards with the strength of a demon possessed,
Mike: A demon possessed by... another demon, I guess.
>lodging her sandled foot squarely between the shaman's testicles.
Crow: Too bad she didn't hit either of them, he might've let go.
> The startled priest released his crushing grip, crimping his
Tom: Isn't that always the way? The girls with curly hair are always
trying to straighten it, and the ones with straight hair...
>at the waist overlooking his recessed belly;
Crow: Overlooking the scenic recessed belly, Priest's Waist Time-Share is
an unbeatable investment opportunity!
>wide open in a deep chasim.
Mike: You mean like Casey Chasim?
Crow: Keep your feet on the ground and keep reaching for the priest's
> His face flushed to a rose red shade of crimson,
Tom: As always, Jim makes sure to delineate the various shades of crimson,
vital to the plot as they are.
>eyelids fluttering wide
>with eyeballs protruding blindly outwards from their sockets to their
>outmost perimeters, while his lips quivered wildly about allowing an
>agonized wallow to gust forth as his breath billowed from burning lungs.
Mike: Jim is now on his fourth page of describing the shaman's reaction to
being kicked in the crotch.
>His hands reached out clutching his urinary gland
Crow: I'm no anatomy expert, but isn't that up near his kidneys?
>as his knees wobbled
>rapidly about for a few seconds then buckled, causing the ruptured shaman
Mike: Please don't rupture the shaman.
Tom: Thank you, Mr. Whipple.
>to collapse in an egg huddled mass
Crow: You want your eggs scrambled, poached, over easy or sunny-side up?
Tom: Oh, I'll just take 'em in a huddled mass.
>to the granite pavement, rolling
>helplessly about in his agony.
> The pathetic screeches of the shaman
Mike: --reminded the girl of the Alanis Morissette concert.
>groveling in dejected misery upon
>the hand hewn granite laid pavement, worn smooth by countless hours of
>arduous sweat and toil, a welter of ichor oozing through his clenched
Mike: This is now officially the longest kicked-in-the-crotch scene ever
>attracted the purturbed attention of his comrades from their foetid
Tom: Now I get it! All the vowels from the characters' names are hiding
in the adjectives.
>ulations. The actions of this this rebellious wench bespoke the creedence
Mike: --Clearwater Revival.
>of an unheard of sacrilige. Never before in a lost maze of untold eons
Crow: Which I'm sure Jim will now tell us about.
>a chosen one dared to demonstrate such blasphemy in the face of the cult's
> The girl cowered in unreasoning terror, helpless in the face of the
>emblazoned acolytes' rage; her orchid tusseled face smothered betwixt her
Crow: Wow! If I could do that I'd never leave the house!
Tom: Mike, I hate to bring this up again, but I'm confused. First he says
she's "slender" with a "trim build", then she's got outcropping, bulging
breasts. Which is it?
Mike: Picture a baseball bat with two canteloupes taped to it.
>as she shut her curled lashed tightly hoping to open them and
>find herself awakening from a morbid nightmare.
Crow: I've been doing that for a while now but when I open them the story's
>yet the hand of destiny
>decreed her no such mercy,
Tom: You know, believe it or not, I'm actually beginning to miss Grignr.
>the antagonized pack of leering shaman
>converging tensely upon her prostrate form were entangled all too lividly
>in the grim web of reality.
Mike: Jim's one of those glass-is-half-empty guys.
> Shuddering from the clamy touch of the shaman as they grappled with
>her supple form, hands wrenching at her slender arms and legs in all
Tom: See the accompanying vector diagram.
>her bare body being molested in the midst of a labyrnth of
Crow: A little club soda'll get those out.
>purpled satin, and mangled skulls, shadowed in an eerie
>crimson glow; her confused head reeled then clouded in a mist of
>enshrouding ebony as she lapsed beneath the protective sheet of
>unconsiousness to a land peach
Mike: It's just peachy!
Crow: I'd like to resign from this story.
[Continued in Part 5]