"Now that's the funniest thing I ever hoid" With that bravo grabbed the charcoal out of Roy Duncan's hands ran a line under his nose and across both eyebrows. He stole a cigar out of his brother Ironscarf's pocket and shrugged on a swallow tail coat two sizes too big. He looked like nothing so much as a caricature of his swallow tail coated, cravat wearing brother.
"I say, good to see you back to normal brother."
"Why naturally, Iron, though I'd hardly use noimal for something as abnoimal as all this. And that's saying something, though exactly what I have no idea." Bravo rejoined stalking around everyone in a low crouched, long legged gait.
Skoolmunkee sidled up to him and put her leg into his outstretched hand. "My one and true love you're back!"
"True? Honesty has nothing to do with love. Skool would you take off that ridiculous pair of pants you share with Jillyfoo and get back into a pair of mine?" SKool did her best Margaret Dumont double take.
"Are you saying I should get into your pants?" Skool said haltingly with obvious disdain.
"Yes, this pair right here," Bravo replied pulling out a pair from behind his back. "They're clean I just stole them from the cleaners. All those pants hanging around in bags, they'll never miss a pair or a dozen!"
Skool stepped out of the pants she had been sharing with Jillyfoo revealing the cutest pair of Old Batman underroos (Batman TM DC comics) and knee sox and put on the pinstripe pants Bravo had given her.
"We really weren't cojoined?" Jillyfoo exclaimed.
"It was the pants." Roy Duncan said. "I'm not really evil you know."
"I say old man, I'm so disappointed in you, not really evil. What is this world coming to."
"Hopefully an end." Bravo said. "And you want to know the woist part? All this didn't get me a single new reader for my comic!"
He held up a sign saying "THE END" and gestured to an orchestra on a floating platform nearby. The music swelled and the scene faded to black. Words began to scroll up the screen listing all kinds of names of people claiming responsibity for all this.
"Though of course why anyone in their right mind woould claim responsibility for any of this just shows how few people are in their right minds."
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Comic Talk and General Discussion *
WHAT' HAPPENED WHILE I WAS AWAY? -new DD Quackcast community Soap! Feel free to join in ^_^
So it was Bravo who was the evil genius all along? Sneaky! >:[
Well, Ayesinback informed on your dastardly ploy to kill the soap so you're sunk, you hear? SUNK!
Villain! Grrr!
I have another chapter waiting in the wings, but right now I'm dead tired. Rest assured I WILL be back. I dunno when, but I will.
With a vengeance!
ozoneocean wrote:"Good Lord nephew," Ironscarf sighed, "Neither Brother Bravo nor I are the evil genius."
So it was Bravo who was the evil genius all along? Sneaky! >:[
Well, Ayesinback informed on your dastardly ploy to kill the soap so you're sunk, you hear? SUNK!
Villain! Grrr!
I have another chapter waiting in the wings, but right now I'm dead tired. Rest assured I WILL be back. I dunno when, but I will.
With a vengeance!
"We're both evil geniuses." Bravo smiled, cigar in mouth and immediately started singing.
"It doesn't matter what you say, I'll be against it anyway,
"Whatever it is, (pause) I'm against it!
"It doesn't matter who commensed it, I"m against it!"
Natually it became a huge production number as eveyone was swept up by the song and there was a long line of Drunk Duck Soap bathing beauties all showing off their legs and Busby Berkeley and Louis B. Meyer, Vicenti Minelli would have been pleased.
"Whew that was beautiful people!" Jillyfoo ran around in her leg warmers having somehow shed the co-joined pants and now in leotards "And a five, six, seven, EIGHT!"
Bravo wasn't needed in this sequence as it mostly involved the chorus of Drunk Duck bathing beauties. He took a swig of his water and wandered over to Abt Nihil. "It took ayesinback to warn Oz about the attempt to end this mess."
"That of course means that Oz hasn't been making the effort to read it himself." Abt replied. He was reading "Comic German accents for Native Speakers" by Kenny Mars and Werner Kemperer. "Well he has been very busy of late."
"But it means there's a long time lag before he can reply to anything." Bravo said lighting another cigar. BOth turned as they heard someone sniffing the air. Ironscarf came over his own cigar in hand being followed by a very straight standing man in a tuxedo carrying a tray of glasses.
"I thought I smelled wood burning. You've been thinking again brother." he made a look of disgust. "And those cheap cigars you smoke how do you ever tolerate the stench!"
"I was telling Abt here, that there's a time lag before anyone ever replies to this and that the individual threatening vengeance has to be warned about developments by a third party who…" Bravo started.
"Shall remain ayesinback and that Banes individual. Nasty sychophantic blighter. Even an evil genius wholoves to have people tell him how great he is," Ironscarf took a breath as it was a long sentence for someone even as longwinded as he was, "Such as myself can't stand him."
"He's not that bad," Bravo said. He looked at Ironscarf and the chorused.
"He's worse." The two evil genius brothers laughed.
"So we have lots of time to reply to any vengeance planned against us. Good show and good thinking brother of mine." Ironscarf puffed on his aromatic cigar. He reached into his dressing gown and took out a cigar, "Please have one of mine Bravo old boy, that weed in your mouth just positively reeks."
"So many nice pirs off legs im Drunk Duck, who vud haff known." Abt mused.
"Not too shabby Abt, keep practicing." Bravo stalked back into his dressing room. So much time and so much planning to do. Vengeance? Ha! He'd find them ready. The rumors of this thing ending anytime soon had been greatly exaggerated and they had all fallen into his trap.
…
I woke to a throbbing pain in my temple, my eyes tightly screwed shut against the dazzling sunlight.
My mouth tasted like arse and my throat felt like broken glass… I felt a prickling on my back and realised I was lying on grass.
How how had my life become such a farce?
I put a hand to my aching head, tried to get up, then immediately doubled over and vomited loudly… and kept retching till there was nothing but clear bile, then nothing at all, just painful dry heaves.
The pain in my head redoubled. I groaned..
Then mercifully I passed out.
When I next awoke, all around me was bight and white. I couldn't feel my body. Then I looked down and saw that I didn't have one… Then I realised I wasn't "looking" at all, I was just "aware", and I realised I must be dead.
Or dreaming.
Then I awoke for real, I could feel my body this time- feeling hollow and ravenously hungry. Dehydrated. Dry, like a husk.
The heat was oppressive.
I levered myself to my feet and almost passed out again. I put my hand to my face, felt wetness. My hand was sticky with dark blood and congealing puke.
What had gone wrong?
WHAT HAD HAPPENED TO ME????
…
Flashes of memory…
I was sitting at a table, covered in empty pint glasses, a mug of dark Guinness in one hand, the other…
…around the waist of an attractive blonde sitting on my knee, wearing nothing but lingerie, a yellow fire fighter coat, and a big smile… Who was she?
There had been singing.
Some doofus on a stage doing a pretty good Groucho Marx impersonation.
Big, bobbly bolloons… or boobs?
Coloured streamers… flashing lights… loud music… the constant hum of conversation, punctuated by bulbing laughter… thick smoke in the air…
Then… shouting? The crack of gunfire?
…
No… I lost it.
I looked down. Why am I wearing a dinner suit?
I checked my pockets.
There was a wallet in there. Fancy. Shiny crocodile skin.
I opened it.
A photo of some grinning douche. No licence. Role of US $100 bills the colour of moldy bread. Pack of five glow in the dark condoms. A platinum credit card, name: "Sum G. Douche".
…hmm, curious.
I needed answers!
But first, I needed food!
…and a pee.
My foot kicks something hard and heavy, makes a metallic sound as it thumps back to the ground.
I bend to pick it up, slowly, confounded by another wave of nausea and wooziness.
A gun.
A black automatic pistol.
I turn it over in my hands… It's pretty scratched up, this gun has seen some use. The serial number is all filed off. Magazine is empty, there are no bullets… Still, I pocket it anyway. It might come in handy later on.
…
…another flash of memory…
A woman screaming in Greek. Bright muzzle flash strobing the darkness with deadly light. Angry shouting. More gunfire. Bottles breaking. A fire. A mad crush of frightened people fighting to get through a door…
That's all.
I head towards some trees, stop in the shade, and pee onto the dusty red earth beneath them.
It doesn't make any sense…
"It was never supposed to make sense."
The acrid smell of a cigar assaulted Ozone's nose. It gave up without a fight. Ozone coughed. Then he coughed again. Where was the speaker? Then he realized his eyes were closed so of course he couldn't see anyone.
"You done watering the tree?" Then there was another smell, another acrid smell that caused Ozone to cough. Cough so hard his eyes watered.
"Yup, love the smell of diesel exhaust in the morning. With so many Positive waves how could we go wrong?" Ozone coughed again as the owner of the voice slapped him on the back. He struggled to open his watery eyes to focus on the owner of this voice that sounded vaguely familar. It was the same voice as that Groucho imitator.
"Don't get used to eating the red dust, because before you know it it'll rain and it will all be red mud. Red mud stains don't wash out so don't get that wonderful white starched shirt of yours anywhere near it." Ozone still couldn't make out the speaker except glasses and a moustache. Groucho Marx all right. He could see more a helmet and a dusty jacket with a tricolored patch on the arm. None of this was making sense.
"It has to make sense," another voice said. This one was female and had a foreign accent. Ozone would see red. A fez? A tasseled fez?
"Give it up and get in your hole. Crank up that Detroit diesel and let's get moving" Metallic clanking and loud engine noises. Ozone grabbed his head as it overwhelmed him. It smelled like the whole world was one roaring fire that threatened to split his head wide open.
"You get used to it, 'cause it's like this all the time and it never makes sense. The day it does I'm out of here." The voice laughed ruefully. That was the word. Ozone had read it so often but he had never quite heard a rueful laugh until this one. "MOUNT UP!"
Menawhile Skoolmunkee had made her daring escape to the fictional Island of Barbados, were she sat in the sun and drank Tequila Sunrise from a cocunt while her buttcheek were Jillofoo had been, was being massaged by a cute Mexican boy named Paco.
"Mmm, that's it Paco. Keep aplying your sweet burrito-fingers over my sensitive skin."
"Like this, senior Monkey?" Paco said as he applied a bit more presure with his left hand while his other grabbed for a massive sword.
"It's seniora" Skool replied "and I'm no longer monkey" while Paco grabbed the blade with both hands and swung the blade to poor skool's body!
But Skool's body wasn't there to be stabbed anymore. Instead of just one monkey, TWELVE monkeys materialized out of nowhere and attacked Paco with the vengeance that only monkeys can employ in tearing pray to pieces. Skool laughed in superiority as she languishly got up, while her 12 Monkey minions were doing away with poor Paco in ways that make the Saw series look like a ketchup commercial.
"My poor, poor Paco… while I am not monkey, there IS a reason it is in my moniker. I just never leave survivors sentient enough to fully describe what that reason is."
Meanwhile Ozone kept hearing the odd bespectacled fez wearing person repeating to him like a mantra, "it HAS to make sense! it HAS to make sense!"
But little did Ozone know that that little phrase held the key to ultimate power…
But back in the mists of his mind one thing bothered him about the mantra. Was it sense or was it cents? If it was cents then money was the path to ultimate power.
Ozone heard the screech of brakes and a dapper man with bowler hat, a cutaway coat and cravat had pulled up in a racing green Bentley.
As if reading Ozone's mind Ironscarf said "I say, that is the rub isn't it nephew? If it is cents pr pense rather than simple logic it would make life so much easier to figure out wot?" He took a puff from his cigar. "I so like simplicity."
Meanwhile way off the coast of Columbia Asbin had fallen into the ocean and bits of gerbil flesh and blood from his hand sewn wings had attracted SHARKs. In a dark place, sitting next to El Cid watching the wonderous 100" inch flat screen that was one of the percs of being the prime minister of Iceland was Dark Pascual.
"He escaped!"
"Not for long!"
Asbin shrugged off the vest Shastab had lovingly sewn the gergil flesh onto and was grateful to be free of the Matchbox 20 CDs. The sharks swarmed around him. Then a harpoon plunged into one and Asbin saw a small, really weather-beaten fishing boat with a craggy man in a captain's hat.
"Aar matey, swim to the boat and I'll cover ye." The craggy man pulled out the very common MG42 machine gun that every munitions museum has at least a dozen of, and it spat out lots of bullets as it has one of the fastest rates of fire of any machine gun in the world. The sharks were massacred and Asbin made it to the boat and hauled himself aboard.
"Matey, I be Gunwallace," he hefted the Machinengehwer 42 to illustrate where the "gun" part of his name came from. "Shastab radioed for me to pick ye up arrg."
"Wait, wait, wait!" El Cid said in his dark office with Dark Pascual. "Bravo tried to end this all and here we are spinning off into another subplot!"
"It was me, pass the salt" Genejoke said. Dark Pascual passed him the salt and wondered why he didn't have any lines yet. It was probably an EEEEEEEVVVILLLLL plot by someone else, probably one of those two scheming brothers Ironscarf and Bravo.
"What does this have to do with the price of tea in China?" Ayesinback exclaimed in her office with Banes.
"Absolutely nothing, but I have a feeling someone will be explaining this…" Banes started.
There was a huge scream from somewhere off stage "…OR NOT!"
"Yes, the characters have to reaching for personal growth! But of course if there is nothing there, we have to emphasize everyone becoming more mature to give the story power! Or this will be a truly awful story!" Banes insisted quoting his brilliant exposition on script writing.
"Banes, give it up , it is, was and always will be a truly awful story with no plot, no reason or rhyme…"
And in a voice from the other side of the stage came a mantra "It has to make sense, it has to make sense…"
And from somewhere else "We'll always have Paris. Here's looking at you kid."
And another place "There's no place like home." And another "I WILL NEVER BE HUNGRY AGAIN!"
Ayesinback pushed the mute button on her remote and wondered why the hell had the story suddeny focused on her and wished it could shift elsewhere. But it didn't. She stuffed some more popcorn into her mouth and sat back in her chair trying to hide behind the armrest. She looked up suddenly and saw that the story was still focused on her.
"Arrr," typed Gunwallace on that small fishing boat somewhere off the coast of Columbia. "Thar ye be Ayes, happy now it's back to me it is."
And somewhere off stage came the call "JUst so long as it's not on me!" And a long chorus followed "Or me" ' "…or me" "Me too!" "Or me!"
I went around to the passenger side of the old Bently, opened the door and climbed in, settling down on the hot brown leather seat.
The bull-necked guy in the tweed suit and the bowler hat sat down and started up the car, puffing away on his fat stinking cigar all the while.
We roared off into the shimmering heat. I watched his face in profile as he stared fixedly ahead.
Small immaculately trimmed moustache, large pores on his ruddy skin, but cleanly shaved cheeks… His collar was too tight, neck bulging over slightly… Neatly trimmed hair at the back of his neck… The smell of cigar smoke clung to him like a fug.
"Where are we going?"
I had to shout to be heard over the wind of our passage and the roar of the engine.
"WHAT'S THAT OLD BOY?" he said, teeth firmly clenched around his puffing cigar.
"WHERE ARE WE GOING?" I tried again, louder…
"ALL IN GOOD TIME. ALL IN GOOD TIME M'BOY!" he shouted cryptically into the breeze…
Another flash of memory…
I'm riding in a limousine.
There's Skoolmunkee sitting across from me in a glittering, black, form fitting, floor length ball gown, two tanned, beefy, muscular young men wearing nothing but bike shorts and red bow ties. Sitting either side, watching her with adoration on their faces.
She has a gold statuette with a duck face and a human body clutched in her lap, a huge grin on her face…
A sudden realisation!
The DD Awards… Of course!
Skool had won… best admin or some such…
We were going on to the after party.
…I had been planning to steal the award…
All in good time, I thought to myself as I watched her through narrowed eyes.
She exulted over her victory.
Jealousy seethed through every fibre of my body.
Her toyboys were protection enough in the car, but later…
I had something special planned.
The party would have a special floor show…
"There was no way she won that award fairly, it should be mine!", I thought to myself, repeating it like a mental mantra, going around and around my brain.
Outwardly I smiled and laughed along with her sycophants at a cutting remark at my expense.
Sure, I was a bad loser, but she wasn't a role-model for a good winner either.
I'd heard about the bribes…
The bodies…
Oh yes, there was blood on her hands all right. And tonight was when it'd all come to a head. Just a little while longer.
The car swung into a driveway, crunching over neatly raked gravel.
A large building loomed brightly in the darkness, glowing with a million lights every colour of the rainbow, the eerie faded cones of yellow white searchlight beams swept the sky, fireworks boomed in the distance somewhere beyond the structure.
The party was already in full swing. The sound of a jazz band obscured by joyous yells and screams.
Skool and her toyboys mounted the wide stairs, glided past the two enormous dark suited bouncers, and through into the luridly lit wide open portico.
I hung back, waiting.
The bouncer on the left made a sign.
I sidled up to him.
He bent low, lips brushing my ear…
"Twelve fifteen" he whispered in a tight falsetto.
I glanced at my watch. Its face glinted red in the lamp light.
9:30.
I'd have my work cut of for me then.
"Who?" I breathed up at the bulky figure.
He shrugged his enormous shoulders and looked away.
I passed on through the doorway, into light and life!
The sound hit me like wall, washing over me, lifting me up.
People where everywhere, standing around in loose groups, laughing, chatting, shouting to be heard, whirling around, dancing with one another, the women dressed brightly and extravagantly: feathers, lace, silk satin, all colours, The men elegant in sharply cut, smart black dinner suits.
A giggling woman, looking over her left shoulder, distracted, bumped into my side, almost spilling her Martini, catching the flying drops with a graceful flip of her glass.
"Ayesinback, charming to see you here." I said conversationally.
Her eyes lit up "Oh-Zone! I'm so pleased you could make it to our intimate little soiree."
"I wouldn't have missed it for anything my dear"
"But I thought…" She trailed off.
"It's fine, really. She deserves it. I'm really quite happy for her." I lied.
"Good, good! That's very big off you! Well, I must circulate… you'll excuse me?" She sidled off awkwardly, disappearing into the crowd.
Damn! I wasn't doing as well as I thought at covering…
Now where had Skool got to? surely she'd be easy to spot with those two half dressed monkeyboys tagging along at her heels… 12:15…
I felt a tap on the shoulder.
Turning around I looked up into a grinning, beaded face. ProductPlacement.
"HELLO my good friend! I am wery please to see you here! I do hope you are vell and not at all owervhelmed by the party atmosphere here!" he boomed in his good-natured Scandinavian way.
"Not at all!" I assured him, trying to match his happy grin with one of my own.
I feigned a laugh and tossed my head.
"Is Roku with you? You were both quite impressive during the awards ceremony. I must say!"
"Must say vhat?" He frowned in confusion.
"Just a figure of speech my dear fellow" I assured him.
"A figure in speech? Vhat is this? Newermind." he sighed, losing interest "Rokulilly vas vith me, yes.. She's just gone to get some punch. Vould YOU like some?" He asked with a sly grin.
"Yes, of course, I'd love…"
My vision exploded into stars.
The ringing in my ears slowly subsided to be replaced by explosive laughter, like rocks tumbling down the side of Mt Eyjafjallajökull.
My jaw ached. I felt my face, no blood… Then realised I was lying on the cold floor, surrounded by concerned guests.
ProductPlacemnt lumbered away, cackling merrily to himself.
I struggled to my feet angrily, my dignity hurt worse than anything else…
…only to be greeted with a face full of enormous breasts…
"Oh, I am SO sorry!" I stammered apologetically, trying to back away, cheeks blushing furiously.
Niccea tittered girlishly, holding an elegantly gloved hand to her lips.
"Oh, Ozone, they're falsies, didn't you know?" She smiled/
"Very convincing nevertheless, I assure you." I said, as I regained my composure.
"But why?" I asked perplexed.
"Why what?" she said, wide eyed, innocent. She laughed again, causing her artificially enhanced assets to wobble hypnotically.
I stared in spite of myself.
"Ah… I see. Impressive." I admitted with genuine admiration.
I'd know to be wary when going up against her in future business dealings…
She winked conspiratorially and turned to go. Giving in to a mischievous impulse I reached out and pinched her on the bottom, then skipped away into the crowd, leaving the sound or her indignant squeal in my wake.
I'd spotted a head of flowing yellow hair…
Weaving past milling bodies, my motion was suddenly arrested by a tugging at my elbow.
I turned to see a striking green and orange Hawaiian shirt, topped with a bearded and bespectacled visage…
"Bavo!" I exclaimed.
"I thank you, I thankyou!" He replied.
"Encore! Encore!" I shouted.
He bowed twice and then we shook hands heartily.
"A fine performance." I congratulated him, "I've enjoyed your writing for some time, although if I were to offer one tiny skerric of criticism I would say that sometimes your focus is a little too wide, too grand, 'can't see the trees for the forest' to paraphrase. Not often, but at times, and the broad brush approach sacrifices detail…"
He frowned, stung in spite of my compliments and gentle analysis. I could see he was already swallowing a rebuke and instead internalizing and beginning a self critique…
I couldn't have that.
I slapped him on the back jovially. "Come on man! You've done a simply titanic job keeping this rambling narrative together so neatly. If it wasn't for you, this story would've fizzled out pages ago. And that scene with Ironscarf and Macattack in the car together was simply genius! Inspired work…"
I was interrupted by an angry shriek, Nicea had found me…
I took Bravo by the arm and spun him into Niccea's giant bouncing chest in a move that startled them both.
"Niccea, Meet Bravo. Bravo, meet Niccea. Enjoy!" I rattled off as I plunged back into the press, hoping to lose myself in the crowd…
I swiped a glass of something green and fragrant from a portly man in a smart black suit and a grey PVC batman cowl, with white wiggly eyebrows drawn on it.
He looked up, offended, while I took a sip.
"Mmmmmm, delicious! You have exquisite taste my dear Kroatz!" I complimented him.
"You think that's all it takes? I'm not a simpleton" he snapped. "Get your own damn drink. Free-loader!" he shouted as he snatched back the glass, spilling half on the floor.
I ducked away hurriedly from the glowering batface and its angry wiggly white eyebrows…
"What was all that about?" Bravo crossed his legs and leaned on nothing as if it was a wall.
"You do realize you're leaning on nothing?"Nicea said jiggling her falsies trying to get Bravo's attention.
"Since this is all nonsensical I can do pretty much anything I want." Bravo tugged on his mustache revealing a zipper, then undid the zipper down his entire body, then Bravo stepped out of the unzipped shell, folded it up and put it in the pocket of his tuxedo.
Niccea reached down the front of her dress and pulled out two falsies which were revealed to be cupcakes. She offered one to Bravo. "They're cream filled."
"There's a dirty joke there somewhere but I'll let someone else come up with it." Bravo offered Niccea his arm "I'm off to the buffet to get some more eats. We have to move fast before Magna Carta."
"Right, 12:15"
"By the way have I sufficently expressed my gratitude yet for everything yet?" Bravo asked as they weaved in and out of the crowd towards the glamourous and awesome spread of food ahead.
"Yes but you could tell me all about the wonderful job I did on the awards some more."
Bravo glanced over his shoulder at the audience because as always there is no fourth wall in this thing. "It's fun to flatter the person you're talking to and once you're done talking to them, you turn around and tell everyone else what a big jerk they are."
Niccea smiled broadly, "Remind me later to address the audience I have a lot of people to call big jerks."
With distress Bravo replied, "Not me I hope."
"Especially you dear Bravo, but that's for the audience's ears, not for yours." She surveyed the various dishes, "I didn't see the seseme chicken before. Is it any good?"
"Ask the audience," Bravo grumbled.
Just then a tall green faced man dressed all in black brandishing a matching black handled double bladed green hued lightsaber, crashed through a window followed by a hoard of super sith ninja squirrels each with their own tiny lightsabers identical to his own! Why, is a supposed Sith Lord using green instead of red, you ask? Simply because red really isn't his color. Anyway, the man said, "I am Darth Paul, and I heard that remark about super sith ninja squirrels being a silly idea, and I find your lack of faith disturbing! Execute Order 66!"
The army of sith ninja squirrels lept into action with a blinding squeak and incredible cuteness.
And prompty cut off all their tails, fell to the ground writhing in pain. Rokulily, Hippie van and all the other animals lovers among the Drunkduckers present rushed to their aid. There really are too many of them to list. Bravo took no notice because he was busy stuffing pulled pork into his mouth.
"Weelwee gweb sauce" He glanced over at the table again where he noticed they had replenished the ribs "RIBS! YUM! Gimme that thar bar-bee-que!"
Ironscarf glanced in to the room holding a glass of champaigne in one hand and his cigar in the other and looking debonair as only an Englishman can. "Told you so old chap. It's not so much lack of faith you know, I say, faith is what kept the British Empire going all those years. You see it's a simple matter that rodents in general and squirrels in particular can't be trusted with sharp objects."
A turtle had wandered in and was busy helping to bandage up the wounded squirrels. Hammy shrugged as only he can with such cute innosense that you just want to kill him. But no one could because he was a copyright protected crossover character from another comic strip. R.J. the raccoon and Bravo were fighting over the ribs.
Darth_paul realizing no one was paying any attention to him anymore noticed the buffet himself, and engaged in an epic three-way duel with R.J. the raccoon and Bravo for the last BBQ rib. (R.J. Racoon, Hammy and Vern are (C) M. Fry and T. Lewis and no, noone ever asked them for any permission to include their characters in this, we just haven't been doing that have we, first Batman, then BATTLEGOATs, yeah we're just stomping all over creation stealing copyrights)
Having won the battle for the last rib darth_paul sat down to eat, but alas there was nothing to wipe his hands with. "I find the lack of napkins disturbing," he said while pointing at Ironscarf and yanking his scarf from his neck with a quick use of The Force and proceeded to wipe hands and face.
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