The "Creative Writing" forum, which includes Retro Game Reviews, has been archived and is now read-only. You cannot post here or create a new thread or review on this forum.
Third in a series I began long ago. Rasta Skank and the Temple of Cube can be found here:
http://ukchatforums.reserve.co.uk/ display_messages.php?threadid=25300&forumid=419
And Rasta Skank: Raiders of the Lost X can be found here:
http://ukchatforums.reserve.co.uk/ display_messages.php?threadid=25999&forumid=419
Please keep your arms and legs in at all times. Enjoy. Rated G for Gay.
--
RASTA SKANK AND THE LAST DREAMCAST
(Set 2 years after the events of Rasta Skank: Raiders of the Lost X)
Rasta Skank wandering idly through the Nintendo building. He didn’t know what he was doing, exactly. But that didn’t make much of a change. But this time he didn’t know what he was doing because of Grix. Grix never knew what he was doing.
“ Rasta, you have to find the cheese before Grix does!” came Ant’s voice over the two-way radio.
“ Ant, I could sit here for 10 years and Grix still wouldn’t have found the cheese.”
Rasta wearily opened a door, and yea, he beheld the cheese. It was sitting on a desk.
“ Ant, I have the cheese.”
“ Oh goody!” Rasta heard a crash. Probably Ant falling off his chair in excitement, he concluded. Then Grix ran through the door. The closed door. When he had recovered, he ate the cheese. And that was that.
**
“ Grix, I’ve told you. I want to spend my time searching for a copy of a NES. It’s what I went on that hero course for.”
They were sitting in Grix’s office, basking in the glory of the victorious cheese hunt. Grix always managed to lose his lunch.
“ Yes, I know! But I’ve heard of this ancient relic! The Dreamcast, or something like that. Stupid name, really. I want you to find it.”
“ Any particular reason?”
“ No. Do you need one? You think the plot would be better?”
Rasta nodded, wearily.
“ OK!” said Grix, and rolled over to the filing cabinet. “ How about… Aha! The lost cult of Sega are rising in power again. They need only this console to cover all the lands in darkness.”
Rasta looked suspicious.
” Grix, did you steal that line from somewhere?”
“ Maybe. Go and get me some more cheese! And tell Ant I don’t want it to explode.”
**
Rasta drove back to his house in a depressed state. He didn’t need this. All he wanted to do was find him a NES. Now he had to find himself a lost console, probably with a boring and pointless fishing game.
He kicked open his door.
“Hello Rasta.” Said a high voice. “I’m being looming.”
“Glad you told me.” Muttered Rasta. “Where are you?”
“I am EVERYWHERE! Ow…” A small shape in an overlarge cloak fell off a stool behind the door. “Oh…b****r.”
Rasta kicked it until it stopped moving. Then, after some thought, he tossed it on the sofa and elbow dropped it. For good measure.
“Who are you?” he said, swinging the light on the midget’s face.
“I am youuuuuuuu…” it squeaked.
“What?”
“Oh fine. I’m A Mysterious Agent Who’s Name Will Be Divulged Later. Part of the Sega cult. I was sent here to kill you.”
“See, why couldn’t you have said that in the first place?”
“Erm…adds to the…y’know…wossname.”
Rasta sighed and went to the phone.
“Ant?”
“Mother?”
“No, Ant, it’s Rasta.”
“I know, Mother. I promise, I didn’t mean to wet the bed. It was Grix.”
“Of course it was.”
“Honestly, Mother! OW! Sorry, Mother, some cheese has just exploded.”
Rasta put the phone down. Where were his mates when he needed them? What he really needed was a crack team of commandos, ready to travel into deepest…where were they going?
“Where’s the Dreamcast, Mother…I mean, oh just tell me?!”
The small figure squeaked some more.
“ I don’t knowwwwwwww….”
“You’re lying, aren’t you?”
“Erm…Yes. It’s in deepest…France.”
“What? Why is it in FRANCE?”
“Dunno. Can I go now?”
“No. Shut up.”
Rasta rung up someone else.
“Vottanator?”
“No, this is David, his partner. I’ll just get him for you. Wossssssssssssssy, darling? There’s a woman on the phone for you.”
“I’m all man!” yelled Rasta. “Oh, hullo, Vottanator. Fancy coming to France with me?”
“Erm, why?”
“Come on!”
“No, really, why?”
“Bet you’re gay.”
“Yes.”
“Oh. Fine. We’re looking for something called a Dreamcast.”
“Do I get free refills?”
“Yeah, sure, why not?”
“Cool. Let’s go.”
**
Ten minutes later, Rasta and Vottanator, plus a hot dinner from David, pulled up outside Ant and Grix’s house.
“OI, ANT?”
“Whoop?” Grix answered the door. “Hello chaps. Is that the Dreamcast? Superb. Give it here then. Here’s 10p. Don’t spend it all at once.”
Then he slammed the door in their faces.
“10p! Let’s go get drunk!” yelled Vottanator. Rasta looked at him suspiciously.
“He just took our curry. ANT!”
Ant fell out of a window.
“Sorted. Let’s go. To infinity and beyond!” pronounced Rasta.
“Rasta, Infinity is that way, past Inverness. We’re going to France. Opposite direction. See, the signpost.”
“Ah, so it is…And look, I didn’t know we were near London.” Muttered Ant.
“We’re in London.”
“So we are! Fancy that. Cheese?”
“No, Ant.”
**
Rasta sighed and leant on the dashboard.
“So lets go over this again. We stopped at that garage in Folkestone. I went to have a slash, and gave you money to get petrol. Instead you bought…”
Ant grinned and reached into his bag, producing two items.
“ You bought a novelty ashtray and a packet of cheese.” Sighed Rasta.
“Some very nice cheese!” squeaked Ant indignantly.
“I’m bored.” Said Vottanator. “I miss David. Can I go?”
“Yes, I don’t see why not. I don’t chat to you that much anymore anyway. Don’t see why you deserve to be in this story that the author began writing months ago and then forgot about. In fact, sod continuity with the previous two stories, I just don’t care Amish man. I mock you Amish man.” Said Rasta, all in one go.
“I’m not Amish.” Muttered Vottantor.
“Oh. Then I mock you…man.”
“In fact, that’s not strictly true….I’ll be quiet now.”
Vottanator kicked open the door, and then began crying because his toe hurt. Rasta sighed and turned back to Ant as Vottanator scurried away.
“That’s one agent down. Here’s some more money. Try and buy petrol this time? I’m going to call Grix to activate another agent for me.”
“I’ll drink to that!” whooped Ant.
“No you won’t Ant. You drink half a pint of shandy and you’re under the table singing Puff The Magic Dragon.”
Ant pouted. “He lives in Honilee, y’know.”
**
Rasta tapped a number on the Magic Nintendo Phone-a-mah-jig McScreen and Grix’s head popped up on it.
“JESUS!” he cried, and fell backwards over a chair.
“Yes, I suppose I am really.” Said Rasta, smoothing back his hair.
“Yep” muttered Ant from the background. “Jesus didn’t get any sex in his life either.”
Rasta blushed, and then turned back to Grix.
“I’m an agent down due to Votty being a screaming homo. I need a replacement. To join me in deepest France, apparently. I’m going searching for the Dreamcast, like you wanted.”
“Great! Mother will be so pleased! You can have the agent codenamed “Geordie Gimp.” I’ll instruct him to meet you in Nice.” cheered Grix.
“I almost got killed as well, so I think I deserve a bonus.” Muttered Rasta.
“Hehehe, you’re a eunuch…” giggled Grix. And then signed off.
“WHAT? Not a eunuch!” raged Rasta.
Ant returned, carrying a large inflatable crocodile. Rasta sighed.
**
In a room somewhere, a dark figure paced up and down on a stage, before a crowd of other robed and hooded figures. He seemed to be giving some sort of inspirational talk. In a high voice.
“My brothers! Our time is at hand! Once the pitiful Nintendo has been crushed, Sega shall rise again.”
“Hallelujah!” they all cried, out of time and off key.
“So go forth with the power of Rez, our God, and prod them mightily with pointed sticks!”
“Hallelujah!”
Five minutes later, the leader got restless.
“As in now? Sod off.”
“Ooooh.”
**
A plane screeched to a halt in Nice. At one end of the long runway, robed figures stood, holding Stinger launchers.
“MUAHAHAHAHAHAH!” laughed one. “Now I haff you, Mr Powers. I mean Skank. Don’t sue me.”
They fired. The plane blossomed outwards in a brilliant medlee of golden death.
“That wasn’t too hard.” Remarked one.
“We’re evil geniuses. We’ve killed them.” Scoffed another. “I fancy pie.”
“Won’t say no to pie.”
A car pulled to a halt by the gate. Rasta and Ant got out, gaping at the fire.
”Heck!” screeched Ant.
“You can swear Ant. Really.”
“Dash?”
Rasta sighed. Then the robed figures turned around and saw them standing there.
“Oh…b****r.” Said the first one.
**
Ant and Rasta strolled up to a bridge, overlooked a dazzling river. A figure in a trenchcoat and hat stood there, smoking a cigar. Rasta sauntered over and leant next to him.
“As the whale dives, new life springs anew.” He muttered. The figure turned around.
“Eh?”
“It’s the password!” squeaked Rasta. “Y’know, you are Geordie Gimp?”
The figure hit Rasta. Hard.
“Yeah, that’s me. Don’t call me that. All field operatives are free to call me MoJo.”
“Excellent. So MoJo..”
“But they don’t.”
“Ok, Mr Jo, you have information on the location of the Dreamcast?”
“Yep.”
Rasta waited for more information. None came.
“That’s it? Just ‘Yep’?” said Rasta. MoJo considered this.
“…Yep.”
“Oh.”
MoJo sighed, and began to walk towards a top of the range Lexus.
“Get in.”
“Wow, you own a Lexus?!” screamed Ant. “I made love to a beautiful woman in one of these.”
They turned around slowly to look at Ant. “You didn’t, did you?”
“No, not really. I thought it sounded macho.”
“My sister sounds more macho.” Remarked MoJo. Then he pulled out a Beretta and shot the lock off.
Rasta and Ant looked stunned. “Only girls use Berettas anyway.” Said Rasta, in a small voice.
“So you’re nicking the car?” said Ant.
“Nah, can’t find the keys. Must have left that at the who…” started MoJo. “That, um, yeah…lets go. I’m taking you to a lost temple in the middle of the jungle.”
“In FRANCE?”
**
They pulled up to a temple, and yea, twas in the middle of a jungle.
“They’ve done wonderful things with France.” Remarked Rasta.
“Yeah, especially since the French race were accidentally horribly massacred by those biological weapons accidentally mass-fired from America.”
“The ones that were accidentally loaded with mass-Frenchy killing chemicals when supposed to be aimed at Iraq?”
“Yeah, there the ones.”
MoJo tapped his foot impatiently. He pointed at the vans parked outside.
“Looks like the Cult of Sega has made it here before us.”
“What do you know about the Cult of Sega?” said Ant, drawing his AK.
“Yeah, tell us.” Said Rasta, drawing his Hero Handbook. He licked a finger delicately and leafed through it. “Um…You’re not my father!”
“Yes?” said MoJo.
“Oh, ok..” he turned a few more pages. “Let the girl go!”
MoJo looked at Ant. “I thought he was a bit feminine…”
Rasta shrugged and put away the Handbook. Then he drew a gun of unsure make and charged at the temple.
“The Cult of Sega eh? Well, they’re unreliably described. The woman, Onatopp, is our only confirmed contact. The head man is unreliably described.” Said MoJo as they ran.
“Eh?” said Ant, puffing.
“Ah, sorry. Cult of Sega, right? Well, there’s only five of them, so it’s not so much a Cult as a Sorry Gathering of Freaks.”
“Ah.” Said Rasta. “Freaks, eh? So the leader is our old friend Shaneo?”
“Yes, actually. How did you know…?”
“Gut feeling. And the vans have ‘Shaneo’s Spiced Meat and Xerox Co’ on their side.”
“Spam and copying? Strange mix.” Remarked Ant.
“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” said Rasta.
Then they kicked open the door of the old temple and charged in. An old man was sitting there, staring at them.
“Hey, I remember you! GasMask, right?” said Rasta. The old man didn’t move. They shrugged and moved on.
About 20 minutes later they barged into the main chamber. On a pedestal sat the Dreamcast, shining.
“It’s ours!” said MoJo, diving towards it.
“Yes, well, this is probably the time I should warn you about the devious and exotic boobytraps…” Started Ant, but MoJo grabbed the console.
A comically large anvil dropped on his head. Engraved on the side were the words “MUAAHAHAHA, HAHAA. Hahaha. Ha…Oh.”
“A evil genius who manically laughs and then gets embarrassed?” said Ant.
Rasta shrugged and picked up the Dreamcast, which had rolled to a stop by his feet. As they turned to leave, five figures stepped out of the shadows and confronted them.
“Return to us the Dreamcast, and we shall let you live. It’s ours you know. I put down a pre-oder deposit at Woolies.” Said Shaneo.
“And you’re just getting it now? That’s Woolies for you.” Muttered Ant, and then he threw some fruit at Shaneo.
“Fruit? Muah. I laugh in the face of fruit.” Shaneo mocked. He caught the fruit. It was ticking. “This is some of your exploding food, right? Oh fu..”
Then he exploded into really small bits. Inexplicably, out of the shadows danced a massive group of figures, headed by a chap called Mr Nice Guy. They linked arms as cheerful happy music started playing from somewhere and then they danced on the corpse of Shaneo, clapping their hands and cheering. Then they finished and went away. Apart from Mr Nice Guy, who pulled out a chain-gun and killed the rest of Shaneo’s friends. Then he shook the hands of Rasta and Ant and skipped off cheering.
“That was…weird.” Said Rasta.
“Yep.” Said Ant.
“Hey, he nicked the Dreamcast!!” yelled Ant.
“He did? But he had such an honest face.”
“Never mind. Mothers cooking stew tonight, and I’ve got to tidy my room. I’m not usually allowed to go out in the garden after 6, and it’s 7:30.”
“And we’re in France.”
“Damn.”
They posed in the sunset as they walked out of the temple.
“Wherever you are, Nice Guy, I’ll find you and take back what is mine. Probably. Maybe. We’ll call it 50/50. And if I do, you’ll be sorry. Very sorry. For I am Rasta Skank, Jedi Knight!”
“Really?”
“No. Lets go.”
THE END.
A Stryke film.
Co-Starring Rowan Williams, Archbishop of Canterbury as Ant, Roger Waters as Grix, Joanna Lumley as Shaneo and Stretch Armstrong as Mr Nice Guy. Introducing Graham Norton as Vottanator.
Theme song – “Nobody Has A Higher Voice” – sung by a drunken Scottish lout on crack.
RASTA SKANK WILL RETURN.
http://ukchatforums.reserve.co.uk/ display_messages.php?threadid=25300&forumid=419
And Rasta Skank: Raiders of the Lost X can be found here:
http://ukchatforums.reserve.co.uk/ display_messages.php?threadid=25999&forumid=419
Please keep your arms and legs in at all times. Enjoy. Rated G for Gay.
--
RASTA SKANK AND THE LAST DREAMCAST
(Set 2 years after the events of Rasta Skank: Raiders of the Lost X)
Rasta Skank wandering idly through the Nintendo building. He didn’t know what he was doing, exactly. But that didn’t make much of a change. But this time he didn’t know what he was doing because of Grix. Grix never knew what he was doing.
“ Rasta, you have to find the cheese before Grix does!” came Ant’s voice over the two-way radio.
“ Ant, I could sit here for 10 years and Grix still wouldn’t have found the cheese.”
Rasta wearily opened a door, and yea, he beheld the cheese. It was sitting on a desk.
“ Ant, I have the cheese.”
“ Oh goody!” Rasta heard a crash. Probably Ant falling off his chair in excitement, he concluded. Then Grix ran through the door. The closed door. When he had recovered, he ate the cheese. And that was that.
**
“ Grix, I’ve told you. I want to spend my time searching for a copy of a NES. It’s what I went on that hero course for.”
They were sitting in Grix’s office, basking in the glory of the victorious cheese hunt. Grix always managed to lose his lunch.
“ Yes, I know! But I’ve heard of this ancient relic! The Dreamcast, or something like that. Stupid name, really. I want you to find it.”
“ Any particular reason?”
“ No. Do you need one? You think the plot would be better?”
Rasta nodded, wearily.
“ OK!” said Grix, and rolled over to the filing cabinet. “ How about… Aha! The lost cult of Sega are rising in power again. They need only this console to cover all the lands in darkness.”
Rasta looked suspicious.
” Grix, did you steal that line from somewhere?”
“ Maybe. Go and get me some more cheese! And tell Ant I don’t want it to explode.”
**
Rasta drove back to his house in a depressed state. He didn’t need this. All he wanted to do was find him a NES. Now he had to find himself a lost console, probably with a boring and pointless fishing game.
He kicked open his door.
“Hello Rasta.” Said a high voice. “I’m being looming.”
“Glad you told me.” Muttered Rasta. “Where are you?”
“I am EVERYWHERE! Ow…” A small shape in an overlarge cloak fell off a stool behind the door. “Oh…b****r.”
Rasta kicked it until it stopped moving. Then, after some thought, he tossed it on the sofa and elbow dropped it. For good measure.
“Who are you?” he said, swinging the light on the midget’s face.
“I am youuuuuuuu…” it squeaked.
“What?”
“Oh fine. I’m A Mysterious Agent Who’s Name Will Be Divulged Later. Part of the Sega cult. I was sent here to kill you.”
“See, why couldn’t you have said that in the first place?”
“Erm…adds to the…y’know…wossname.”
Rasta sighed and went to the phone.
“Ant?”
“Mother?”
“No, Ant, it’s Rasta.”
“I know, Mother. I promise, I didn’t mean to wet the bed. It was Grix.”
“Of course it was.”
“Honestly, Mother! OW! Sorry, Mother, some cheese has just exploded.”
Rasta put the phone down. Where were his mates when he needed them? What he really needed was a crack team of commandos, ready to travel into deepest…where were they going?
“Where’s the Dreamcast, Mother…I mean, oh just tell me?!”
The small figure squeaked some more.
“ I don’t knowwwwwwww….”
“You’re lying, aren’t you?”
“Erm…Yes. It’s in deepest…France.”
“What? Why is it in FRANCE?”
“Dunno. Can I go now?”
“No. Shut up.”
Rasta rung up someone else.
“Vottanator?”
“No, this is David, his partner. I’ll just get him for you. Wossssssssssssssy, darling? There’s a woman on the phone for you.”
“I’m all man!” yelled Rasta. “Oh, hullo, Vottanator. Fancy coming to France with me?”
“Erm, why?”
“Come on!”
“No, really, why?”
“Bet you’re gay.”
“Yes.”
“Oh. Fine. We’re looking for something called a Dreamcast.”
“Do I get free refills?”
“Yeah, sure, why not?”
“Cool. Let’s go.”
**
Ten minutes later, Rasta and Vottanator, plus a hot dinner from David, pulled up outside Ant and Grix’s house.
“OI, ANT?”
“Whoop?” Grix answered the door. “Hello chaps. Is that the Dreamcast? Superb. Give it here then. Here’s 10p. Don’t spend it all at once.”
Then he slammed the door in their faces.
“10p! Let’s go get drunk!” yelled Vottanator. Rasta looked at him suspiciously.
“He just took our curry. ANT!”
Ant fell out of a window.
“Sorted. Let’s go. To infinity and beyond!” pronounced Rasta.
“Rasta, Infinity is that way, past Inverness. We’re going to France. Opposite direction. See, the signpost.”
“Ah, so it is…And look, I didn’t know we were near London.” Muttered Ant.
“We’re in London.”
“So we are! Fancy that. Cheese?”
“No, Ant.”
**
Rasta sighed and leant on the dashboard.
“So lets go over this again. We stopped at that garage in Folkestone. I went to have a slash, and gave you money to get petrol. Instead you bought…”
Ant grinned and reached into his bag, producing two items.
“ You bought a novelty ashtray and a packet of cheese.” Sighed Rasta.
“Some very nice cheese!” squeaked Ant indignantly.
“I’m bored.” Said Vottanator. “I miss David. Can I go?”
“Yes, I don’t see why not. I don’t chat to you that much anymore anyway. Don’t see why you deserve to be in this story that the author began writing months ago and then forgot about. In fact, sod continuity with the previous two stories, I just don’t care Amish man. I mock you Amish man.” Said Rasta, all in one go.
“I’m not Amish.” Muttered Vottantor.
“Oh. Then I mock you…man.”
“In fact, that’s not strictly true….I’ll be quiet now.”
Vottanator kicked open the door, and then began crying because his toe hurt. Rasta sighed and turned back to Ant as Vottanator scurried away.
“That’s one agent down. Here’s some more money. Try and buy petrol this time? I’m going to call Grix to activate another agent for me.”
“I’ll drink to that!” whooped Ant.
“No you won’t Ant. You drink half a pint of shandy and you’re under the table singing Puff The Magic Dragon.”
Ant pouted. “He lives in Honilee, y’know.”
**
Rasta tapped a number on the Magic Nintendo Phone-a-mah-jig McScreen and Grix’s head popped up on it.
“JESUS!” he cried, and fell backwards over a chair.
“Yes, I suppose I am really.” Said Rasta, smoothing back his hair.
“Yep” muttered Ant from the background. “Jesus didn’t get any sex in his life either.”
Rasta blushed, and then turned back to Grix.
“I’m an agent down due to Votty being a screaming homo. I need a replacement. To join me in deepest France, apparently. I’m going searching for the Dreamcast, like you wanted.”
“Great! Mother will be so pleased! You can have the agent codenamed “Geordie Gimp.” I’ll instruct him to meet you in Nice.” cheered Grix.
“I almost got killed as well, so I think I deserve a bonus.” Muttered Rasta.
“Hehehe, you’re a eunuch…” giggled Grix. And then signed off.
“WHAT? Not a eunuch!” raged Rasta.
Ant returned, carrying a large inflatable crocodile. Rasta sighed.
**
In a room somewhere, a dark figure paced up and down on a stage, before a crowd of other robed and hooded figures. He seemed to be giving some sort of inspirational talk. In a high voice.
“My brothers! Our time is at hand! Once the pitiful Nintendo has been crushed, Sega shall rise again.”
“Hallelujah!” they all cried, out of time and off key.
“So go forth with the power of Rez, our God, and prod them mightily with pointed sticks!”
“Hallelujah!”
Five minutes later, the leader got restless.
“As in now? Sod off.”
“Ooooh.”
**
A plane screeched to a halt in Nice. At one end of the long runway, robed figures stood, holding Stinger launchers.
“MUAHAHAHAHAHAH!” laughed one. “Now I haff you, Mr Powers. I mean Skank. Don’t sue me.”
They fired. The plane blossomed outwards in a brilliant medlee of golden death.
“That wasn’t too hard.” Remarked one.
“We’re evil geniuses. We’ve killed them.” Scoffed another. “I fancy pie.”
“Won’t say no to pie.”
A car pulled to a halt by the gate. Rasta and Ant got out, gaping at the fire.
”Heck!” screeched Ant.
“You can swear Ant. Really.”
“Dash?”
Rasta sighed. Then the robed figures turned around and saw them standing there.
“Oh…b****r.” Said the first one.
**
Ant and Rasta strolled up to a bridge, overlooked a dazzling river. A figure in a trenchcoat and hat stood there, smoking a cigar. Rasta sauntered over and leant next to him.
“As the whale dives, new life springs anew.” He muttered. The figure turned around.
“Eh?”
“It’s the password!” squeaked Rasta. “Y’know, you are Geordie Gimp?”
The figure hit Rasta. Hard.
“Yeah, that’s me. Don’t call me that. All field operatives are free to call me MoJo.”
“Excellent. So MoJo..”
“But they don’t.”
“Ok, Mr Jo, you have information on the location of the Dreamcast?”
“Yep.”
Rasta waited for more information. None came.
“That’s it? Just ‘Yep’?” said Rasta. MoJo considered this.
“…Yep.”
“Oh.”
MoJo sighed, and began to walk towards a top of the range Lexus.
“Get in.”
“Wow, you own a Lexus?!” screamed Ant. “I made love to a beautiful woman in one of these.”
They turned around slowly to look at Ant. “You didn’t, did you?”
“No, not really. I thought it sounded macho.”
“My sister sounds more macho.” Remarked MoJo. Then he pulled out a Beretta and shot the lock off.
Rasta and Ant looked stunned. “Only girls use Berettas anyway.” Said Rasta, in a small voice.
“So you’re nicking the car?” said Ant.
“Nah, can’t find the keys. Must have left that at the who…” started MoJo. “That, um, yeah…lets go. I’m taking you to a lost temple in the middle of the jungle.”
“In FRANCE?”
**
They pulled up to a temple, and yea, twas in the middle of a jungle.
“They’ve done wonderful things with France.” Remarked Rasta.
“Yeah, especially since the French race were accidentally horribly massacred by those biological weapons accidentally mass-fired from America.”
“The ones that were accidentally loaded with mass-Frenchy killing chemicals when supposed to be aimed at Iraq?”
“Yeah, there the ones.”
MoJo tapped his foot impatiently. He pointed at the vans parked outside.
“Looks like the Cult of Sega has made it here before us.”
“What do you know about the Cult of Sega?” said Ant, drawing his AK.
“Yeah, tell us.” Said Rasta, drawing his Hero Handbook. He licked a finger delicately and leafed through it. “Um…You’re not my father!”
“Yes?” said MoJo.
“Oh, ok..” he turned a few more pages. “Let the girl go!”
MoJo looked at Ant. “I thought he was a bit feminine…”
Rasta shrugged and put away the Handbook. Then he drew a gun of unsure make and charged at the temple.
“The Cult of Sega eh? Well, they’re unreliably described. The woman, Onatopp, is our only confirmed contact. The head man is unreliably described.” Said MoJo as they ran.
“Eh?” said Ant, puffing.
“Ah, sorry. Cult of Sega, right? Well, there’s only five of them, so it’s not so much a Cult as a Sorry Gathering of Freaks.”
“Ah.” Said Rasta. “Freaks, eh? So the leader is our old friend Shaneo?”
“Yes, actually. How did you know…?”
“Gut feeling. And the vans have ‘Shaneo’s Spiced Meat and Xerox Co’ on their side.”
“Spam and copying? Strange mix.” Remarked Ant.
“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” said Rasta.
Then they kicked open the door of the old temple and charged in. An old man was sitting there, staring at them.
“Hey, I remember you! GasMask, right?” said Rasta. The old man didn’t move. They shrugged and moved on.
About 20 minutes later they barged into the main chamber. On a pedestal sat the Dreamcast, shining.
“It’s ours!” said MoJo, diving towards it.
“Yes, well, this is probably the time I should warn you about the devious and exotic boobytraps…” Started Ant, but MoJo grabbed the console.
A comically large anvil dropped on his head. Engraved on the side were the words “MUAAHAHAHA, HAHAA. Hahaha. Ha…Oh.”
“A evil genius who manically laughs and then gets embarrassed?” said Ant.
Rasta shrugged and picked up the Dreamcast, which had rolled to a stop by his feet. As they turned to leave, five figures stepped out of the shadows and confronted them.
“Return to us the Dreamcast, and we shall let you live. It’s ours you know. I put down a pre-oder deposit at Woolies.” Said Shaneo.
“And you’re just getting it now? That’s Woolies for you.” Muttered Ant, and then he threw some fruit at Shaneo.
“Fruit? Muah. I laugh in the face of fruit.” Shaneo mocked. He caught the fruit. It was ticking. “This is some of your exploding food, right? Oh fu..”
Then he exploded into really small bits. Inexplicably, out of the shadows danced a massive group of figures, headed by a chap called Mr Nice Guy. They linked arms as cheerful happy music started playing from somewhere and then they danced on the corpse of Shaneo, clapping their hands and cheering. Then they finished and went away. Apart from Mr Nice Guy, who pulled out a chain-gun and killed the rest of Shaneo’s friends. Then he shook the hands of Rasta and Ant and skipped off cheering.
“That was…weird.” Said Rasta.
“Yep.” Said Ant.
“Hey, he nicked the Dreamcast!!” yelled Ant.
“He did? But he had such an honest face.”
“Never mind. Mothers cooking stew tonight, and I’ve got to tidy my room. I’m not usually allowed to go out in the garden after 6, and it’s 7:30.”
“And we’re in France.”
“Damn.”
They posed in the sunset as they walked out of the temple.
“Wherever you are, Nice Guy, I’ll find you and take back what is mine. Probably. Maybe. We’ll call it 50/50. And if I do, you’ll be sorry. Very sorry. For I am Rasta Skank, Jedi Knight!”
“Really?”
“No. Lets go.”
THE END.
A Stryke film.
Co-Starring Rowan Williams, Archbishop of Canterbury as Ant, Roger Waters as Grix, Joanna Lumley as Shaneo and Stretch Armstrong as Mr Nice Guy. Introducing Graham Norton as Vottanator.
Theme song – “Nobody Has A Higher Voice” – sung by a drunken Scottish lout on crack.
RASTA SKANK WILL RETURN.
Whuzzah. Ta lads. Someone reads stuff in...THE ARCHIVE!
Very surprising.
Very surprising.
Stryke u cheated u postd in 2 fomsan dat meens u cant win da gad comptiton becase postin twyce is not alloud on des forms ur gad wil be canclld hah hah in ur fase stryke
Brilliant Stryke.
Brilliant Stryke.
“No you won’t Ant. You drink half a pint of shandy and you’re under the table singing Puff The Magic Dragon.”
LOL! Brilliant Stryke, worthy of GAD. ;-D
LOL! Brilliant Stryke, worthy of GAD. ;-D
Third in a series I began long ago. Rasta Skank and the Temple of Cube can be found here:
http://ukchatforums.reserve.co.uk/ display_messages.php?threadid=25300&forumid=419
And Rasta Skank: Raiders of the Lost X can be found here:
http://ukchatforums.reserve.co.uk/ display_messages.php?threadid=25999&forumid=419
Please keep your arms and legs in at all times. Enjoy. Rated G for Gay.
--
RASTA SKANK AND THE LAST DREAMCAST
(Set 2 years after the events of Rasta Skank: Raiders of the Lost X)
Rasta Skank wandering idly through the Nintendo building. He didn’t know what he was doing, exactly. But that didn’t make much of a change. But this time he didn’t know what he was doing because of Grix. Grix never knew what he was doing.
“ Rasta, you have to find the cheese before Grix does!” came Ant’s voice over the two-way radio.
“ Ant, I could sit here for 10 years and Grix still wouldn’t have found the cheese.”
Rasta wearily opened a door, and yea, he beheld the cheese. It was sitting on a desk.
“ Ant, I have the cheese.”
“ Oh goody!” Rasta heard a crash. Probably Ant falling off his chair in excitement, he concluded. Then Grix ran through the door. The closed door. When he had recovered, he ate the cheese. And that was that.
**
“ Grix, I’ve told you. I want to spend my time searching for a copy of a NES. It’s what I went on that hero course for.”
They were sitting in Grix’s office, basking in the glory of the victorious cheese hunt. Grix always managed to lose his lunch.
“ Yes, I know! But I’ve heard of this ancient relic! The Dreamcast, or something like that. Stupid name, really. I want you to find it.”
“ Any particular reason?”
“ No. Do you need one? You think the plot would be better?”
Rasta nodded, wearily.
“ OK!” said Grix, and rolled over to the filing cabinet. “ How about… Aha! The lost cult of Sega are rising in power again. They need only this console to cover all the lands in darkness.”
Rasta looked suspicious.
” Grix, did you steal that line from somewhere?”
“ Maybe. Go and get me some more cheese! And tell Ant I don’t want it to explode.”
**
Rasta drove back to his house in a depressed state. He didn’t need this. All he wanted to do was find him a NES. Now he had to find himself a lost console, probably with a boring and pointless fishing game.
He kicked open his door.
“Hello Rasta.” Said a high voice. “I’m being looming.”
“Glad you told me.” Muttered Rasta. “Where are you?”
“I am EVERYWHERE! Ow…” A small shape in an overlarge cloak fell off a stool behind the door. “Oh…b****r.”
Rasta kicked it until it stopped moving. Then, after some thought, he tossed it on the sofa and elbow dropped it. For good measure.
“Who are you?” he said, swinging the light on the midget’s face.
“I am youuuuuuuu…” it squeaked.
“What?”
“Oh fine. I’m A Mysterious Agent Who’s Name Will Be Divulged Later. Part of the Sega cult. I was sent here to kill you.”
“See, why couldn’t you have said that in the first place?”
“Erm…adds to the…y’know…wossname.”
Rasta sighed and went to the phone.
“Ant?”
“Mother?”
“No, Ant, it’s Rasta.”
“I know, Mother. I promise, I didn’t mean to wet the bed. It was Grix.”
“Of course it was.”
“Honestly, Mother! OW! Sorry, Mother, some cheese has just exploded.”
Rasta put the phone down. Where were his mates when he needed them? What he really needed was a crack team of commandos, ready to travel into deepest…where were they going?
“Where’s the Dreamcast, Mother…I mean, oh just tell me?!”
The small figure squeaked some more.
“ I don’t knowwwwwwww….”
“You’re lying, aren’t you?”
“Erm…Yes. It’s in deepest…France.”
“What? Why is it in FRANCE?”
“Dunno. Can I go now?”
“No. Shut up.”
Rasta rung up someone else.
“Vottanator?”
“No, this is David, his partner. I’ll just get him for you. Wossssssssssssssy, darling? There’s a woman on the phone for you.”
“I’m all man!” yelled Rasta. “Oh, hullo, Vottanator. Fancy coming to France with me?”
“Erm, why?”
“Come on!”
“No, really, why?”
“Bet you’re gay.”
“Yes.”
“Oh. Fine. We’re looking for something called a Dreamcast.”
“Do I get free refills?”
“Yeah, sure, why not?”
“Cool. Let’s go.”
**
Ten minutes later, Rasta and Vottanator, plus a hot dinner from David, pulled up outside Ant and Grix’s house.
“OI, ANT?”
“Whoop?” Grix answered the door. “Hello chaps. Is that the Dreamcast? Superb. Give it here then. Here’s 10p. Don’t spend it all at once.”
Then he slammed the door in their faces.
“10p! Let’s go get drunk!” yelled Vottanator. Rasta looked at him suspiciously.
“He just took our curry. ANT!”
Ant fell out of a window.
“Sorted. Let’s go. To infinity and beyond!” pronounced Rasta.
“Rasta, Infinity is that way, past Inverness. We’re going to France. Opposite direction. See, the signpost.”
“Ah, so it is…And look, I didn’t know we were near London.” Muttered Ant.
“We’re in London.”
“So we are! Fancy that. Cheese?”
“No, Ant.”
**
Rasta sighed and leant on the dashboard.
“So lets go over this again. We stopped at that garage in Folkestone. I went to have a slash, and gave you money to get petrol. Instead you bought…”
Ant grinned and reached into his bag, producing two items.
“ You bought a novelty ashtray and a packet of cheese.” Sighed Rasta.
“Some very nice cheese!” squeaked Ant indignantly.
“I’m bored.” Said Vottanator. “I miss David. Can I go?”
“Yes, I don’t see why not. I don’t chat to you that much anymore anyway. Don’t see why you deserve to be in this story that the author began writing months ago and then forgot about. In fact, sod continuity with the previous two stories, I just don’t care Amish man. I mock you Amish man.” Said Rasta, all in one go.
“I’m not Amish.” Muttered Vottantor.
“Oh. Then I mock you…man.”
“In fact, that’s not strictly true….I’ll be quiet now.”
Vottanator kicked open the door, and then began crying because his toe hurt. Rasta sighed and turned back to Ant as Vottanator scurried away.
“That’s one agent down. Here’s some more money. Try and buy petrol this time? I’m going to call Grix to activate another agent for me.”
“I’ll drink to that!” whooped Ant.
“No you won’t Ant. You drink half a pint of shandy and you’re under the table singing Puff The Magic Dragon.”
Ant pouted. “He lives in Honilee, y’know.”
**
Rasta tapped a number on the Magic Nintendo Phone-a-mah-jig McScreen and Grix’s head popped up on it.
“JESUS!” he cried, and fell backwards over a chair.
“Yes, I suppose I am really.” Said Rasta, smoothing back his hair.
“Yep” muttered Ant from the background. “Jesus didn’t get any sex in his life either.”
Rasta blushed, and then turned back to Grix.
“I’m an agent down due to Votty being a screaming homo. I need a replacement. To join me in deepest France, apparently. I’m going searching for the Dreamcast, like you wanted.”
“Great! Mother will be so pleased! You can have the agent codenamed “Geordie Gimp.” I’ll instruct him to meet you in Nice.” cheered Grix.
“I almost got killed as well, so I think I deserve a bonus.” Muttered Rasta.
“Hehehe, you’re a eunuch…” giggled Grix. And then signed off.
“WHAT? Not a eunuch!” raged Rasta.
Ant returned, carrying a large inflatable crocodile. Rasta sighed.
**
In a room somewhere, a dark figure paced up and down on a stage, before a crowd of other robed and hooded figures. He seemed to be giving some sort of inspirational talk. In a high voice.
“My brothers! Our time is at hand! Once the pitiful Nintendo has been crushed, Sega shall rise again.”
“Hallelujah!” they all cried, out of time and off key.
“So go forth with the power of Rez, our God, and prod them mightily with pointed sticks!”
“Hallelujah!”
Five minutes later, the leader got restless.
“As in now? Sod off.”
“Ooooh.”
**
A plane screeched to a halt in Nice. At one end of the long runway, robed figures stood, holding Stinger launchers.
“MUAHAHAHAHAHAH!” laughed one. “Now I haff you, Mr Powers. I mean Skank. Don’t sue me.”
They fired. The plane blossomed outwards in a brilliant medlee of golden death.
“That wasn’t too hard.” Remarked one.
“We’re evil geniuses. We’ve killed them.” Scoffed another. “I fancy pie.”
“Won’t say no to pie.”
A car pulled to a halt by the gate. Rasta and Ant got out, gaping at the fire.
”Heck!” screeched Ant.
“You can swear Ant. Really.”
“Dash?”
Rasta sighed. Then the robed figures turned around and saw them standing there.
“Oh…b****r.” Said the first one.
**
Ant and Rasta strolled up to a bridge, overlooked a dazzling river. A figure in a trenchcoat and hat stood there, smoking a cigar. Rasta sauntered over and leant next to him.
“As the whale dives, new life springs anew.” He muttered. The figure turned around.
“Eh?”
“It’s the password!” squeaked Rasta. “Y’know, you are Geordie Gimp?”
The figure hit Rasta. Hard.
“Yeah, that’s me. Don’t call me that. All field operatives are free to call me MoJo.”
“Excellent. So MoJo..”
“But they don’t.”
“Ok, Mr Jo, you have information on the location of the Dreamcast?”
“Yep.”
Rasta waited for more information. None came.
“That’s it? Just ‘Yep’?” said Rasta. MoJo considered this.
“…Yep.”
“Oh.”
MoJo sighed, and began to walk towards a top of the range Lexus.
“Get in.”
“Wow, you own a Lexus?!” screamed Ant. “I made love to a beautiful woman in one of these.”
They turned around slowly to look at Ant. “You didn’t, did you?”
“No, not really. I thought it sounded macho.”
“My sister sounds more macho.” Remarked MoJo. Then he pulled out a Beretta and shot the lock off.
Rasta and Ant looked stunned. “Only girls use Berettas anyway.” Said Rasta, in a small voice.
“So you’re nicking the car?” said Ant.
“Nah, can’t find the keys. Must have left that at the who…” started MoJo. “That, um, yeah…lets go. I’m taking you to a lost temple in the middle of the jungle.”
“In FRANCE?”
**
They pulled up to a temple, and yea, twas in the middle of a jungle.
“They’ve done wonderful things with France.” Remarked Rasta.
“Yeah, especially since the French race were accidentally horribly massacred by those biological weapons accidentally mass-fired from America.”
“The ones that were accidentally loaded with mass-Frenchy killing chemicals when supposed to be aimed at Iraq?”
“Yeah, there the ones.”
MoJo tapped his foot impatiently. He pointed at the vans parked outside.
“Looks like the Cult of Sega has made it here before us.”
“What do you know about the Cult of Sega?” said Ant, drawing his AK.
“Yeah, tell us.” Said Rasta, drawing his Hero Handbook. He licked a finger delicately and leafed through it. “Um…You’re not my father!”
“Yes?” said MoJo.
“Oh, ok..” he turned a few more pages. “Let the girl go!”
MoJo looked at Ant. “I thought he was a bit feminine…”
Rasta shrugged and put away the Handbook. Then he drew a gun of unsure make and charged at the temple.
“The Cult of Sega eh? Well, they’re unreliably described. The woman, Onatopp, is our only confirmed contact. The head man is unreliably described.” Said MoJo as they ran.
“Eh?” said Ant, puffing.
“Ah, sorry. Cult of Sega, right? Well, there’s only five of them, so it’s not so much a Cult as a Sorry Gathering of Freaks.”
“Ah.” Said Rasta. “Freaks, eh? So the leader is our old friend Shaneo?”
“Yes, actually. How did you know…?”
“Gut feeling. And the vans have ‘Shaneo’s Spiced Meat and Xerox Co’ on their side.”
“Spam and copying? Strange mix.” Remarked Ant.
“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” said Rasta.
Then they kicked open the door of the old temple and charged in. An old man was sitting there, staring at them.
“Hey, I remember you! GasMask, right?” said Rasta. The old man didn’t move. They shrugged and moved on.
About 20 minutes later they barged into the main chamber. On a pedestal sat the Dreamcast, shining.
“It’s ours!” said MoJo, diving towards it.
“Yes, well, this is probably the time I should warn you about the devious and exotic boobytraps…” Started Ant, but MoJo grabbed the console.
A comically large anvil dropped on his head. Engraved on the side were the words “MUAAHAHAHA, HAHAA. Hahaha. Ha…Oh.”
“A evil genius who manically laughs and then gets embarrassed?” said Ant.
Rasta shrugged and picked up the Dreamcast, which had rolled to a stop by his feet. As they turned to leave, five figures stepped out of the shadows and confronted them.
“Return to us the Dreamcast, and we shall let you live. It’s ours you know. I put down a pre-oder deposit at Woolies.” Said Shaneo.
“And you’re just getting it now? That’s Woolies for you.” Muttered Ant, and then he threw some fruit at Shaneo.
“Fruit? Muah. I laugh in the face of fruit.” Shaneo mocked. He caught the fruit. It was ticking. “This is some of your exploding food, right? Oh fu..”
Then he exploded into really small bits. Inexplicably, out of the shadows danced a massive group of figures, headed by a chap called Mr Nice Guy. They linked arms as cheerful happy music started playing from somewhere and then they danced on the corpse of Shaneo, clapping their hands and cheering. Then they finished and went away. Apart from Mr Nice Guy, who pulled out a chain-gun and killed the rest of Shaneo’s friends. Then he shook the hands of Rasta and Ant and skipped off cheering.
“That was…weird.” Said Rasta.
“Yep.” Said Ant.
“Hey, he nicked the Dreamcast!!” yelled Ant.
“He did? But he had such an honest face.”
“Never mind. Mothers cooking stew tonight, and I’ve got to tidy my room. I’m not usually allowed to go out in the garden after 6, and it’s 7:30.”
“And we’re in France.”
“Damn.”
They posed in the sunset as they walked out of the temple.
“Wherever you are, Nice Guy, I’ll find you and take back what is mine. Probably. Maybe. We’ll call it 50/50. And if I do, you’ll be sorry. Very sorry. For I am Rasta Skank, Jedi Knight!”
“Really?”
“No. Lets go.”
THE END.
A Stryke film.
Co-Starring Rowan Williams, Archbishop of Canterbury as Ant, Roger Waters as Grix, Joanna Lumley as Shaneo and Stretch Armstrong as Mr Nice Guy. Introducing Graham Norton as Vottanator.
Theme song – “Nobody Has A Higher Voice” – sung by a drunken Scottish lout on crack.
RASTA SKANK WILL RETURN.
http://ukchatforums.reserve.co.uk/ display_messages.php?threadid=25300&forumid=419
And Rasta Skank: Raiders of the Lost X can be found here:
http://ukchatforums.reserve.co.uk/ display_messages.php?threadid=25999&forumid=419
Please keep your arms and legs in at all times. Enjoy. Rated G for Gay.
--
RASTA SKANK AND THE LAST DREAMCAST
(Set 2 years after the events of Rasta Skank: Raiders of the Lost X)
Rasta Skank wandering idly through the Nintendo building. He didn’t know what he was doing, exactly. But that didn’t make much of a change. But this time he didn’t know what he was doing because of Grix. Grix never knew what he was doing.
“ Rasta, you have to find the cheese before Grix does!” came Ant’s voice over the two-way radio.
“ Ant, I could sit here for 10 years and Grix still wouldn’t have found the cheese.”
Rasta wearily opened a door, and yea, he beheld the cheese. It was sitting on a desk.
“ Ant, I have the cheese.”
“ Oh goody!” Rasta heard a crash. Probably Ant falling off his chair in excitement, he concluded. Then Grix ran through the door. The closed door. When he had recovered, he ate the cheese. And that was that.
**
“ Grix, I’ve told you. I want to spend my time searching for a copy of a NES. It’s what I went on that hero course for.”
They were sitting in Grix’s office, basking in the glory of the victorious cheese hunt. Grix always managed to lose his lunch.
“ Yes, I know! But I’ve heard of this ancient relic! The Dreamcast, or something like that. Stupid name, really. I want you to find it.”
“ Any particular reason?”
“ No. Do you need one? You think the plot would be better?”
Rasta nodded, wearily.
“ OK!” said Grix, and rolled over to the filing cabinet. “ How about… Aha! The lost cult of Sega are rising in power again. They need only this console to cover all the lands in darkness.”
Rasta looked suspicious.
” Grix, did you steal that line from somewhere?”
“ Maybe. Go and get me some more cheese! And tell Ant I don’t want it to explode.”
**
Rasta drove back to his house in a depressed state. He didn’t need this. All he wanted to do was find him a NES. Now he had to find himself a lost console, probably with a boring and pointless fishing game.
He kicked open his door.
“Hello Rasta.” Said a high voice. “I’m being looming.”
“Glad you told me.” Muttered Rasta. “Where are you?”
“I am EVERYWHERE! Ow…” A small shape in an overlarge cloak fell off a stool behind the door. “Oh…b****r.”
Rasta kicked it until it stopped moving. Then, after some thought, he tossed it on the sofa and elbow dropped it. For good measure.
“Who are you?” he said, swinging the light on the midget’s face.
“I am youuuuuuuu…” it squeaked.
“What?”
“Oh fine. I’m A Mysterious Agent Who’s Name Will Be Divulged Later. Part of the Sega cult. I was sent here to kill you.”
“See, why couldn’t you have said that in the first place?”
“Erm…adds to the…y’know…wossname.”
Rasta sighed and went to the phone.
“Ant?”
“Mother?”
“No, Ant, it’s Rasta.”
“I know, Mother. I promise, I didn’t mean to wet the bed. It was Grix.”
“Of course it was.”
“Honestly, Mother! OW! Sorry, Mother, some cheese has just exploded.”
Rasta put the phone down. Where were his mates when he needed them? What he really needed was a crack team of commandos, ready to travel into deepest…where were they going?
“Where’s the Dreamcast, Mother…I mean, oh just tell me?!”
The small figure squeaked some more.
“ I don’t knowwwwwwww….”
“You’re lying, aren’t you?”
“Erm…Yes. It’s in deepest…France.”
“What? Why is it in FRANCE?”
“Dunno. Can I go now?”
“No. Shut up.”
Rasta rung up someone else.
“Vottanator?”
“No, this is David, his partner. I’ll just get him for you. Wossssssssssssssy, darling? There’s a woman on the phone for you.”
“I’m all man!” yelled Rasta. “Oh, hullo, Vottanator. Fancy coming to France with me?”
“Erm, why?”
“Come on!”
“No, really, why?”
“Bet you’re gay.”
“Yes.”
“Oh. Fine. We’re looking for something called a Dreamcast.”
“Do I get free refills?”
“Yeah, sure, why not?”
“Cool. Let’s go.”
**
Ten minutes later, Rasta and Vottanator, plus a hot dinner from David, pulled up outside Ant and Grix’s house.
“OI, ANT?”
“Whoop?” Grix answered the door. “Hello chaps. Is that the Dreamcast? Superb. Give it here then. Here’s 10p. Don’t spend it all at once.”
Then he slammed the door in their faces.
“10p! Let’s go get drunk!” yelled Vottanator. Rasta looked at him suspiciously.
“He just took our curry. ANT!”
Ant fell out of a window.
“Sorted. Let’s go. To infinity and beyond!” pronounced Rasta.
“Rasta, Infinity is that way, past Inverness. We’re going to France. Opposite direction. See, the signpost.”
“Ah, so it is…And look, I didn’t know we were near London.” Muttered Ant.
“We’re in London.”
“So we are! Fancy that. Cheese?”
“No, Ant.”
**
Rasta sighed and leant on the dashboard.
“So lets go over this again. We stopped at that garage in Folkestone. I went to have a slash, and gave you money to get petrol. Instead you bought…”
Ant grinned and reached into his bag, producing two items.
“ You bought a novelty ashtray and a packet of cheese.” Sighed Rasta.
“Some very nice cheese!” squeaked Ant indignantly.
“I’m bored.” Said Vottanator. “I miss David. Can I go?”
“Yes, I don’t see why not. I don’t chat to you that much anymore anyway. Don’t see why you deserve to be in this story that the author began writing months ago and then forgot about. In fact, sod continuity with the previous two stories, I just don’t care Amish man. I mock you Amish man.” Said Rasta, all in one go.
“I’m not Amish.” Muttered Vottantor.
“Oh. Then I mock you…man.”
“In fact, that’s not strictly true….I’ll be quiet now.”
Vottanator kicked open the door, and then began crying because his toe hurt. Rasta sighed and turned back to Ant as Vottanator scurried away.
“That’s one agent down. Here’s some more money. Try and buy petrol this time? I’m going to call Grix to activate another agent for me.”
“I’ll drink to that!” whooped Ant.
“No you won’t Ant. You drink half a pint of shandy and you’re under the table singing Puff The Magic Dragon.”
Ant pouted. “He lives in Honilee, y’know.”
**
Rasta tapped a number on the Magic Nintendo Phone-a-mah-jig McScreen and Grix’s head popped up on it.
“JESUS!” he cried, and fell backwards over a chair.
“Yes, I suppose I am really.” Said Rasta, smoothing back his hair.
“Yep” muttered Ant from the background. “Jesus didn’t get any sex in his life either.”
Rasta blushed, and then turned back to Grix.
“I’m an agent down due to Votty being a screaming homo. I need a replacement. To join me in deepest France, apparently. I’m going searching for the Dreamcast, like you wanted.”
“Great! Mother will be so pleased! You can have the agent codenamed “Geordie Gimp.” I’ll instruct him to meet you in Nice.” cheered Grix.
“I almost got killed as well, so I think I deserve a bonus.” Muttered Rasta.
“Hehehe, you’re a eunuch…” giggled Grix. And then signed off.
“WHAT? Not a eunuch!” raged Rasta.
Ant returned, carrying a large inflatable crocodile. Rasta sighed.
**
In a room somewhere, a dark figure paced up and down on a stage, before a crowd of other robed and hooded figures. He seemed to be giving some sort of inspirational talk. In a high voice.
“My brothers! Our time is at hand! Once the pitiful Nintendo has been crushed, Sega shall rise again.”
“Hallelujah!” they all cried, out of time and off key.
“So go forth with the power of Rez, our God, and prod them mightily with pointed sticks!”
“Hallelujah!”
Five minutes later, the leader got restless.
“As in now? Sod off.”
“Ooooh.”
**
A plane screeched to a halt in Nice. At one end of the long runway, robed figures stood, holding Stinger launchers.
“MUAHAHAHAHAHAH!” laughed one. “Now I haff you, Mr Powers. I mean Skank. Don’t sue me.”
They fired. The plane blossomed outwards in a brilliant medlee of golden death.
“That wasn’t too hard.” Remarked one.
“We’re evil geniuses. We’ve killed them.” Scoffed another. “I fancy pie.”
“Won’t say no to pie.”
A car pulled to a halt by the gate. Rasta and Ant got out, gaping at the fire.
”Heck!” screeched Ant.
“You can swear Ant. Really.”
“Dash?”
Rasta sighed. Then the robed figures turned around and saw them standing there.
“Oh…b****r.” Said the first one.
**
Ant and Rasta strolled up to a bridge, overlooked a dazzling river. A figure in a trenchcoat and hat stood there, smoking a cigar. Rasta sauntered over and leant next to him.
“As the whale dives, new life springs anew.” He muttered. The figure turned around.
“Eh?”
“It’s the password!” squeaked Rasta. “Y’know, you are Geordie Gimp?”
The figure hit Rasta. Hard.
“Yeah, that’s me. Don’t call me that. All field operatives are free to call me MoJo.”
“Excellent. So MoJo..”
“But they don’t.”
“Ok, Mr Jo, you have information on the location of the Dreamcast?”
“Yep.”
Rasta waited for more information. None came.
“That’s it? Just ‘Yep’?” said Rasta. MoJo considered this.
“…Yep.”
“Oh.”
MoJo sighed, and began to walk towards a top of the range Lexus.
“Get in.”
“Wow, you own a Lexus?!” screamed Ant. “I made love to a beautiful woman in one of these.”
They turned around slowly to look at Ant. “You didn’t, did you?”
“No, not really. I thought it sounded macho.”
“My sister sounds more macho.” Remarked MoJo. Then he pulled out a Beretta and shot the lock off.
Rasta and Ant looked stunned. “Only girls use Berettas anyway.” Said Rasta, in a small voice.
“So you’re nicking the car?” said Ant.
“Nah, can’t find the keys. Must have left that at the who…” started MoJo. “That, um, yeah…lets go. I’m taking you to a lost temple in the middle of the jungle.”
“In FRANCE?”
**
They pulled up to a temple, and yea, twas in the middle of a jungle.
“They’ve done wonderful things with France.” Remarked Rasta.
“Yeah, especially since the French race were accidentally horribly massacred by those biological weapons accidentally mass-fired from America.”
“The ones that were accidentally loaded with mass-Frenchy killing chemicals when supposed to be aimed at Iraq?”
“Yeah, there the ones.”
MoJo tapped his foot impatiently. He pointed at the vans parked outside.
“Looks like the Cult of Sega has made it here before us.”
“What do you know about the Cult of Sega?” said Ant, drawing his AK.
“Yeah, tell us.” Said Rasta, drawing his Hero Handbook. He licked a finger delicately and leafed through it. “Um…You’re not my father!”
“Yes?” said MoJo.
“Oh, ok..” he turned a few more pages. “Let the girl go!”
MoJo looked at Ant. “I thought he was a bit feminine…”
Rasta shrugged and put away the Handbook. Then he drew a gun of unsure make and charged at the temple.
“The Cult of Sega eh? Well, they’re unreliably described. The woman, Onatopp, is our only confirmed contact. The head man is unreliably described.” Said MoJo as they ran.
“Eh?” said Ant, puffing.
“Ah, sorry. Cult of Sega, right? Well, there’s only five of them, so it’s not so much a Cult as a Sorry Gathering of Freaks.”
“Ah.” Said Rasta. “Freaks, eh? So the leader is our old friend Shaneo?”
“Yes, actually. How did you know…?”
“Gut feeling. And the vans have ‘Shaneo’s Spiced Meat and Xerox Co’ on their side.”
“Spam and copying? Strange mix.” Remarked Ant.
“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” said Rasta.
Then they kicked open the door of the old temple and charged in. An old man was sitting there, staring at them.
“Hey, I remember you! GasMask, right?” said Rasta. The old man didn’t move. They shrugged and moved on.
About 20 minutes later they barged into the main chamber. On a pedestal sat the Dreamcast, shining.
“It’s ours!” said MoJo, diving towards it.
“Yes, well, this is probably the time I should warn you about the devious and exotic boobytraps…” Started Ant, but MoJo grabbed the console.
A comically large anvil dropped on his head. Engraved on the side were the words “MUAAHAHAHA, HAHAA. Hahaha. Ha…Oh.”
“A evil genius who manically laughs and then gets embarrassed?” said Ant.
Rasta shrugged and picked up the Dreamcast, which had rolled to a stop by his feet. As they turned to leave, five figures stepped out of the shadows and confronted them.
“Return to us the Dreamcast, and we shall let you live. It’s ours you know. I put down a pre-oder deposit at Woolies.” Said Shaneo.
“And you’re just getting it now? That’s Woolies for you.” Muttered Ant, and then he threw some fruit at Shaneo.
“Fruit? Muah. I laugh in the face of fruit.” Shaneo mocked. He caught the fruit. It was ticking. “This is some of your exploding food, right? Oh fu..”
Then he exploded into really small bits. Inexplicably, out of the shadows danced a massive group of figures, headed by a chap called Mr Nice Guy. They linked arms as cheerful happy music started playing from somewhere and then they danced on the corpse of Shaneo, clapping their hands and cheering. Then they finished and went away. Apart from Mr Nice Guy, who pulled out a chain-gun and killed the rest of Shaneo’s friends. Then he shook the hands of Rasta and Ant and skipped off cheering.
“That was…weird.” Said Rasta.
“Yep.” Said Ant.
“Hey, he nicked the Dreamcast!!” yelled Ant.
“He did? But he had such an honest face.”
“Never mind. Mothers cooking stew tonight, and I’ve got to tidy my room. I’m not usually allowed to go out in the garden after 6, and it’s 7:30.”
“And we’re in France.”
“Damn.”
They posed in the sunset as they walked out of the temple.
“Wherever you are, Nice Guy, I’ll find you and take back what is mine. Probably. Maybe. We’ll call it 50/50. And if I do, you’ll be sorry. Very sorry. For I am Rasta Skank, Jedi Knight!”
“Really?”
“No. Lets go.”
THE END.
A Stryke film.
Co-Starring Rowan Williams, Archbishop of Canterbury as Ant, Roger Waters as Grix, Joanna Lumley as Shaneo and Stretch Armstrong as Mr Nice Guy. Introducing Graham Norton as Vottanator.
Theme song – “Nobody Has A Higher Voice” – sung by a drunken Scottish lout on crack.
RASTA SKANK WILL RETURN.