It all started innocently enough.
I was sitting on the couch in my tighty whities watching a Wonder Woman rerun on Nick At Nite when I heard the noise. Not “noise” really, but a sound that I can only imagine might be made by a duck dressed up in a ninja outfit, complete with face mask, as it tried to hold back a startled quack-scream of pain as it stepped on a rusty nail and fell to its ducky-knees in agony on my kitchen floor while accidentally knocking down an over-burdened dish/drying rack of pots and pans.
And my leftover linguini.
I would have ignored the noise, writing it off as my overactive imagination again, but for the fact that I distinctly heard a hushed voice say “Idiot.” followed almost immediate by “Shuddup!” and the sound of a wooden nunchuck hitting a feathery head. Not wanting to become a victim of fowl play, I quietly made my way to the kitchen to investigate the rising sounds of a barely muffled melee. Turning the corner, I reached out in the darkness for the light switch with one hand while the other silently pulled my katana ‘DaffySlayer’ out of the umbrella stand I keep it in for just such an emergency. And you’d be surprised at how many emergencies call for a katana to be in an umbrella stand.
Or under the bed. Or behind the toilet.
As I stood there in the darkness, preparing myself for what I just knew was going to be the fight of my life, I listened to the sounds emanating from my kitchen and determined that there were between five and nine enemies within. Tightening my grip on DaffySlayer, I flicked the switch and rushed into the kitchen intent on repelling the invaders, no matter who they were. I was lucky that I caught them by surprise because the first two black-clad intruders fell by my hand before the rest new what was happening. Unfortunately for me, my momentum carried me into their midst and that’s when I realized that there were more than nine of them crowding inside my kitchen. Far, far more than nine.
With a howl the hoard of ninja ducks attacked and I prepared myself for death.
Death by ninja ducks How does one prepare for that? Or is that part of the infinite universe of unknowables?
Try this:
GIVE YOUR SISTER A PASHMINI FOR CHRISTMAS.
The local vallagers are a fickle lot. When I sent Milton out to do a market survey on attitudes to the Pasminastan Vultures amongst the villagers, they had him strung up by the cruets before he got the clipboard out of his backpocket.
And yet these kindly, simple, almost bovine folk reached out to Govuuk and DaK MaZda when the boys wheeled the Robo Rucker (litigation pending) on a torchlit parade through the town’s businesses.
Govuuk and DaK had to get half the locals to help them push the thing back to the training camp, it was so overloaded with rum and plasma TVs and shiny polyester sports jackets.
Things started to really hum when most of the team were reunited with their families, friends, loved ones, yaks, tents and farm implements, as the whole village from Pashminastan arrived unnanounced last night on the main street in an overloaded Antonov. The pilot of the Antonov was obviously happy to the point of hysteria when he landed, calling out greetings through the open cockpit window for an old chum by the name of Jack, before the plane had even settled in the fountain in the main street.
So? Did you die?? I wanna know!!
*confused silience*