“Glengodly?” The Jovi asked jovially (not the happy jovial, but The Jovi jovial).
“Yeah, what do you know about Glengodly?” The Niles re-demanded, much more demandingly.
“Nothing, I know nothing of…of…Glengodly.” The Jovi said and passed out from the incessant beating that he had endured, and from utter suckiness.
“Great!” The Niles exclaimed angrily. The angry exclaim caused a case of O’Douls to fall on Herbest Normanthorp of Westchester, PA and knock him completely unconscious.
“Damn The Jovi!” I shouted, and then corrected myself by damning The Jovi again, this time exclaiming it for all to hear.
Knowing (from previous encounters where we pummeled The Jovi into un-consciousness) that the only way to awaken The Jovi from his stupid and sissy-like slumber was to burst into song (for reasons unknown to any of us), so The Niles, in an extremely masculine basso profundo, Tom The Penguin-fish, in a very squeaky alto, Ferocius DeSoto in a disgusting and drag-queen like (yet soulful and somehow strangely appealing) soprano, I, on the air-guitar/bass/drums/timpanis/cello/french-horn, and The Bush on the Whittlin’ Sticks (his words, not mine – and no, I have no idea what Whittlin’ Sticks are, and during the song, it appeared that The Bush had no idea either) began:
The Message from the sea! OH!
Message straight from me! YO HO!
In a never-ending,
Quest for scotch all too mad-den-ing,
The Glen we seek is the Glen for thee,
For the Glen we seek is Glengodly!
Yo! Ho! Etc etc!
(the song repeated like this for some time, with various solos thrown in here and there. It wasn’t the best song, but it was made up on the spot and we somehow all knew the words…anyways, The Jovi awoke from his state.)
“Glengodly?” The Jovi asked, again jovially, but this time just a little less due to overall grogginess.
The Niles exclaimed something about Jesus Christ, followed by a threat directed at The Jovi about repeating ‘Glengodly?’ again.
“I’ve heard of it, but no one knows where it is or where it came from.”
“Like Cheney.” The Bush added for some reason.
“Look The Jovi,” I said, taking the slip of paper from the mystery box. “This paper says, ‘to find Glengodly, first find The Jovi’. We figure that you know something about this.”
"Scotch! 14 Years!" The Niles exclaimed, and Arbitrary Henchman # Give Scotch to Us came rushing over with Oban 14 year.
The Jovi continued not understanding the mystery of the box, and continued to seemingly know nothing of this Glengodly. Then, without warning (for if we had had warning, we would have known and therefore been with warning) The Jovi burst out, “The Dickens!”
“Dang Johnny Dickens,” The Bush started. “Used to pelt me with rocks when I was clearing sage brush off ‘a my ranch.”
“Charles Dickens!” The Jovi burst again. We were really starting to get annoyed with The Jovi’s all around ambiguity on the matter of Glengodly. Why do characters in stories/movies have to be ambiguous? Nobody in real life talks ambiguously. I mean, in reality if somebody had a mysterious box with a note that said that only I was the one that could lead to the item the note in the box spoke of, and I knew a little about the item that the note was referring to, I wouldn’t sit jibba-jabbing about not knowing and then pass out, then wake up and know about it, but still act all weird and just yell out ‘Charles Dickens’. If it were me, I’d say, ‘yeah, I think I know what that note means…there was this guy, Charles Dickens, and he did this and I…’ and blah blah blah and I’d be telling them the goddamned story! None of these mystery bursts, none of this passing out –
“The Boss! Stop! We need him!” The Niles was shouting at me and it was then that I realized I had been incessantly beating the (capital letters now) Ever-Living-Fuck out of The Jovi.
“Oops, I guess I got carried away. The Niles! Stop! We need The Jovi!” I pulled The Niles away from beating The Jovi and gave him more Oban. The Jovi Beatdown ’09 went on like this for about the next ten minutes, when it was done, The Jovi got himself a shower, changed his tight black pants and white blouse (blouse was what he called it, and they're apparently available wherever Gay-Ass Cloaks are sold!) and proceeded explaining what the fuck The Dickens had to do with The Glengodly, etc etc.
I shall paraphrase The Jovi’s words, since the last thing anyone wants to hear it his voice anymore:
The Jovi explained that back in the mid 1800’s Charles Dickens, who had come to some fame writing stories and such, was just finishing a short story about a sea captain and some other things having to do with seafaring. Well, The Dickens couldn't think of a good name for the sea tale and spent countless hours in a drunken stupor at his favorite pub. "Please sir, may I have another?" He would say over and over again to the bartender, until finally the bartender threw him out into the cold cobblestoned street (because all streets in England were and still are cobblestone).
So The Dickens stumbled down Penny Lane in England toward the Strawberry Fields. He passed his ex-lover, Eleanor Rigby on the way and told her that they should reconcile and Come Together sometime and have dinner -
"The Boss! You're talking about the Beatles now, I think." The Niles said.
"I get by with a little help from my friends, get a little high haha." The Bush was now doing a jig and farting.
"Sorry." I said and continued here...
...so The Dickens went drunkenly down the lane and as he stumbled, kept hearing this low rumbling sound in the distance. He started towards where he thought the sound was coming from, somewhere down the lane he was on. He hurried down the road, faster and faster as the sound grew louder and more ominous. He could see a dim glowing pulsating up ahead, from the windows of a house at the end of the street. The Dickens ran full speed now, tripping on a cobblestone and tumbling forward onto his nose and passing out.
When he woke up, he was in a strange house, he could here the rumbling much more clearly now.
"Hello friend." The Jovi said to The Dickens.
"Who are you, where am I?" The Dickens asked.
"You're in a safe place, you took a nasty spill in the street out front of my house. I think you broke your nose."
The Dickens felt his nose, there was a bandage across it.
"Well thank you kind sir for taking care of me. Surely you are a Samaritan!" The Dickens declared. (Declaring is how people exclaimed in 1800s England) "But what is that noise?"
"Let me show you." Said The Jovi.
With that, The Dickens followed The Jovi into the hall and through a doorway that led down some stairs, opening into a large and cavernous basement. There was a large dark shadowy object in the corner, the very origins of the rumbling was upon The Dickens.
"What the devil?" The Dickens what-the-deviled.
"Time travel my funny British friend." The Jovi said, ligthing a spooky looking candelabra.
The device was illuminated, The Dickens walked slowly towards it, feeling the metallic sides and noticing the clear door on the front. He asked what the words on the front meant. "Subway," The Jovi said. "It's a sandwich shop from the future. This time machine was made from a Subway bread oven."
The Dickens explained how that was ridiculous, and The Jovi said 'tell me about it' and how he stole it from someone named El Hefe in the year 2001.
"So The Dickens traveled back to the future with The Jovi?" Tom the Penguin-fish, who hasn't yet spoke this entry, asked.
"Apparently." Ferocius said, getting his line in.
"Panty hose blow my nose." The Bush babbled and drooled.
"How does Glengodly fit into all of this?" The Niles asked.
The Jovi, adjusting his blouse, spoke up.
"When I brought The Dickens back here, to this time, he found the transcripts from Message From the Sea Part 1, Volume One. Well, he apparently stole the title A Message From the Sea for his short story about the sea captain. As he was closing the oven door of the time machine, he shouted something about an ancient scotch; a spirit so old that it was naturally distilled. This scotch was apparently so wondrous and great, that every scotch in the world ever since has been based on it, tried to mimick its greatness, only to fail. This scotch The Dickens spoke of was Glengodly." "He said all of that in a matter of seconds, before getting away forever in the time machine? You didn't have time to stop him?" The Niles asked.
"Well, it was windy...and my leg hurt, there was this hole in the sleeve of my blouse, and I was out of breath a little already."
"Jesus." The Niles said and punched The Jovi in the blouse.
"So we have to somehow time travel to find this scotch?" Tom the Penguin-fish asked. "This is getting out of hand and all around just cheesy."
"Stranger things have happened." Said The Niles.
The Jovi beatings stopped (for now), the scotch drunk, and the other characters doing what they do; we sailed on through the vast ocean, somewhere in the Atlantic now maybe. The plot now significantly more diluted and arduous to get out of, the peak of the story's climax still way off in the distance, up a vast mountain, to be found somewhere beyond the clouds. The entry coming to a close...I looked at the waves crashing against the sides of the S.S. Glen and for the first time let out a hearty, "Damn The Dickens!"
-The Boss
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Thursday, March 5, 2009
The Jovi Battle
“You know, you don’t have to say ‘dot, dot, dot.’ If you just kind of trail off, then we’ll know that the dots are there.” I told The Jovi, tellingly.
“Silence!” The Jovi exclaimed, and The Boss and I winced.
“Nobody exclaims around us!” The Boss told him, and I nodded my head in approval.
The Jovi spread his arms out in a godly manner, and told us that he no longer was bound by the laws of The Boss and The Niles. Small butterflies and little gay 80’s hair band people with wings and neon-colored spandex covered The Jovi from behind with a giant cloak. I had to admit, The Jovi pulled off ominous very well.
“We’ll see who can exclaim!” I tried to exclaim, but couldn’t. Something was wrong. Instead of exclaiming, I was only able to holler, which is undeniably lame. Hollering is something only very lame people do. I couldn’t even yell for Christ’s sake! I tried again, but this time I felt squeamish and doubled over in complete lameness.
“The Boss! First I holler and now I’m squeamish… I’m going completely lame!” I hollered again, this time even more hollerish than the last. Tom the Penguin-Fish came over to give me scotch. It was 18 year Macallan and it helped a lot.
“What’s going on?” Ferocious asked, alarmed and forgetting momentarily to be refined and instead appearing simply frightened.
“I don’t know Ferocious,” The Boss replied, drinkingly. “But I don’t like it at all.”
“Ha, ha!” The Jovi ha-ha’d. “The mystic fogs surrounding my island give me super-exclaiming abilities and debilitate the ability for anyone else. You’re no match for me now The Boss and The Niles!”
“What are we gonna do?” Tom asked us, then proceeded to take a drink of Rumplemintz.
“Everybody calm down.” The Boss started, and then everyone was much calmer. “Scotch me.” Arbitrary Henchman #25 was the designated scotch-carrier for our journey on Jovi Island, so he quickly tossed a bottle of 10yr Jura. Boss gulped it drinkingly and then smiled. “I’m good.” He said, with a thumbs up and a wink.
With everyone wondering what to do next and The Jovi just weirding up the place with his maniacal laugh and gay-ass cloak (see advertisement below), I knew that it would come down to me. Weak from my failed exclaims, but feeling better with the delicious Macallan pulsating through me, I stood up proudly and took stock of what was around me. There had to be something that was drawing in all the fog… causing all of our exclaiming ability to go to The Jovi. It was then that I realized the music of The Jovi was still playing on the loud-speaker, polluting the island. The solution occurred to me… I ran drunkingly to the loudspeaker which was actually a really cool looking giant phonograph shaped thingy. The Jovi gave chase, but I knew I could outrun him when I saw him trip over his gay-ass cloak. I made it all the way to the loudspeaker control building and demolished the 8-track player that was playing his music, knowing that he’d never find another archaic device that could play his crappy 8-tracks. The music stopped and all the fogs began to disperse. I came back to the dock where The Boss and everyone else was, each of them looking puzzled. I kicked The Jovi on the way back and he cried, cryingly.
“Damn The Jovi!” The Boss exclaimed.
“That’s right The Boss!” I exclaimed back, and we did the penguin dance that we made up right there on the spot. It consisted of waddling around and trying to fly, then laughing at each other when we failed to actually fly. This offended Tom at first until The Boss actually succeeded at flying, at which point we were all just shocked and amazed until The Boss did three loop-da-loops and floated back down to the shore, looking rather divine and suddenly wearing a basket of grapes on his head.
“Dude!” I exclaimed again (as there was much exclaiming to do in order to make up for the lack of exclaiming from before). “How did you do that?”
“Don’t mess with Texas.” Came a voice from behind a nearby Bush, which we then discovered was actually The Bush and not behind anything at all.
“Exactly.” The Boss explained, tossing grapes into Tom’s Penguin-Fish mouth. I was confused but figured I’d let it go.
“The Bush! What are you doing here?” I asked the former President.
“What are you doing here?” The Bush responded, whittling and looking confused, or in other words… normal.
Before explanations could continue, The Boss interrupted to ask why the fog disappeared. I had The Boss hallucinate a chalkboard and some chalk so I could diagram it out, very teacherly, and everyone sat down criss-cross-applesauce to listen intently to my explanation. Well, everyone except The Bush who continued whittling and kept muttering something about Alan Jackson owing him a new belt-buckle and needing a piece of wheat to chew on.
“You see,” I began. “The Jovi’s music was so terrible, that when it was played at such great volumes from this tiny island, the Earth itself became agitated. Because of this, the planet went into natural defense mode. Mother Nature put her dead-beat husband Father Time in charge of getting rid of this disturbance. However, because ironically Father Time always chose the quickest resolution to things, rather than getting rid of The Jovi and all his evilness once and for all, he simply sent out a couple of mystical fogs and rerouted a trash barge in order to cover up Jovi Island; much like a teen might cover up a bad facial blemish. This fog kept the world safe from the terrible noises coming from Jovi Island. Unfortunately, it also negatively affected everything that entered the island as well, which is why The Boss and I struggled to exclaim. The fog made any awesomeness transfer straight from the outsider to The Jovi. Thank God it didn’t affect the scotch.”
“Nothing transamathingy’d from me.” The Bush stated. We all just kind of sat there, nobody wanting to tell The Bush that there was nothing awesome about him, thereby hurting his feelings.
The Jovi was still crying, so The Boss and I went over and beat the ever-living fuck out of him. We elected not to take his shit however, as neither of us wanted anything to do with his gay-ass cloak. We dragged him back over to the group near the dock, feeling The Jovi’s minions closing in on us. Hurriedly, we got back onto the S.S. Glen and shook The Jovi violently to try and get him to stop crying long enough for us to interrogate him.
“I’m really, really cool…” The Jovi kept uttering to himself incoherently. The Boss slapped him repeatedly yelling obscenities at him and kicking him in his left shin; one of The Jovi’s biggest weaknesses.
“Damn you The Jovi!” The Boss yelled over and over again drunkingly. I could see this would never end. Once you start beating up The Jovi, it’s so much fun that it’s hard to stop.
“Not livin’ on a prayer now are ya? You bastard!” The Boss continued.
I pulled The Boss away, handing him a bottle of 20yr Inchmurrin to help him relax.
“This is really good!” The Boss exclaimed and a bum named simply Zeke in New Haven who’d been receiving all the beer from this entry’s exclaims decided to “make it rain” with all the bottles he’d gotten. This proved unfortunate for Zeke, as all the bottles came crashing down on him, giving him a concussion and helping him slip further into insanity.
“I know, I just found about it!” I told The Boss excitedly. “It’s expensive, but it looked really awesome, so I thought we’d throw it in there.” The Boss drank it happily and all seemed right in the world.
As I looked out on the horizon, The Jovi captured, The Boss and I scotched, I knew the entry was about to end. With that in mind, I downed a bottle of 10yr Ardberg, grabbed The Jovi by the collar on his gay-ass cloak and looked him square in his damn The Jovi eyes.
“What do you know about GlenGodly?” I demanded.
-The Niles
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“Silence!” The Jovi exclaimed, and The Boss and I winced.
“Nobody exclaims around us!” The Boss told him, and I nodded my head in approval.
The Jovi spread his arms out in a godly manner, and told us that he no longer was bound by the laws of The Boss and The Niles. Small butterflies and little gay 80’s hair band people with wings and neon-colored spandex covered The Jovi from behind with a giant cloak. I had to admit, The Jovi pulled off ominous very well.
“We’ll see who can exclaim!” I tried to exclaim, but couldn’t. Something was wrong. Instead of exclaiming, I was only able to holler, which is undeniably lame. Hollering is something only very lame people do. I couldn’t even yell for Christ’s sake! I tried again, but this time I felt squeamish and doubled over in complete lameness.
“The Boss! First I holler and now I’m squeamish… I’m going completely lame!” I hollered again, this time even more hollerish than the last. Tom the Penguin-Fish came over to give me scotch. It was 18 year Macallan and it helped a lot.
“What’s going on?” Ferocious asked, alarmed and forgetting momentarily to be refined and instead appearing simply frightened.
“I don’t know Ferocious,” The Boss replied, drinkingly. “But I don’t like it at all.”
“Ha, ha!” The Jovi ha-ha’d. “The mystic fogs surrounding my island give me super-exclaiming abilities and debilitate the ability for anyone else. You’re no match for me now The Boss and The Niles!”
“What are we gonna do?” Tom asked us, then proceeded to take a drink of Rumplemintz.
“Everybody calm down.” The Boss started, and then everyone was much calmer. “Scotch me.” Arbitrary Henchman #25 was the designated scotch-carrier for our journey on Jovi Island, so he quickly tossed a bottle of 10yr Jura. Boss gulped it drinkingly and then smiled. “I’m good.” He said, with a thumbs up and a wink.
With everyone wondering what to do next and The Jovi just weirding up the place with his maniacal laugh and gay-ass cloak (see advertisement below), I knew that it would come down to me. Weak from my failed exclaims, but feeling better with the delicious Macallan pulsating through me, I stood up proudly and took stock of what was around me. There had to be something that was drawing in all the fog… causing all of our exclaiming ability to go to The Jovi. It was then that I realized the music of The Jovi was still playing on the loud-speaker, polluting the island. The solution occurred to me… I ran drunkingly to the loudspeaker which was actually a really cool looking giant phonograph shaped thingy. The Jovi gave chase, but I knew I could outrun him when I saw him trip over his gay-ass cloak. I made it all the way to the loudspeaker control building and demolished the 8-track player that was playing his music, knowing that he’d never find another archaic device that could play his crappy 8-tracks. The music stopped and all the fogs began to disperse. I came back to the dock where The Boss and everyone else was, each of them looking puzzled. I kicked The Jovi on the way back and he cried, cryingly.
“Damn The Jovi!” The Boss exclaimed.
“That’s right The Boss!” I exclaimed back, and we did the penguin dance that we made up right there on the spot. It consisted of waddling around and trying to fly, then laughing at each other when we failed to actually fly. This offended Tom at first until The Boss actually succeeded at flying, at which point we were all just shocked and amazed until The Boss did three loop-da-loops and floated back down to the shore, looking rather divine and suddenly wearing a basket of grapes on his head.
“Dude!” I exclaimed again (as there was much exclaiming to do in order to make up for the lack of exclaiming from before). “How did you do that?”
“Don’t mess with Texas.” Came a voice from behind a nearby Bush, which we then discovered was actually The Bush and not behind anything at all.
“Exactly.” The Boss explained, tossing grapes into Tom’s Penguin-Fish mouth. I was confused but figured I’d let it go.
“The Bush! What are you doing here?” I asked the former President.
“What are you doing here?” The Bush responded, whittling and looking confused, or in other words… normal.
Before explanations could continue, The Boss interrupted to ask why the fog disappeared. I had The Boss hallucinate a chalkboard and some chalk so I could diagram it out, very teacherly, and everyone sat down criss-cross-applesauce to listen intently to my explanation. Well, everyone except The Bush who continued whittling and kept muttering something about Alan Jackson owing him a new belt-buckle and needing a piece of wheat to chew on.
“You see,” I began. “The Jovi’s music was so terrible, that when it was played at such great volumes from this tiny island, the Earth itself became agitated. Because of this, the planet went into natural defense mode. Mother Nature put her dead-beat husband Father Time in charge of getting rid of this disturbance. However, because ironically Father Time always chose the quickest resolution to things, rather than getting rid of The Jovi and all his evilness once and for all, he simply sent out a couple of mystical fogs and rerouted a trash barge in order to cover up Jovi Island; much like a teen might cover up a bad facial blemish. This fog kept the world safe from the terrible noises coming from Jovi Island. Unfortunately, it also negatively affected everything that entered the island as well, which is why The Boss and I struggled to exclaim. The fog made any awesomeness transfer straight from the outsider to The Jovi. Thank God it didn’t affect the scotch.”
“Nothing transamathingy’d from me.” The Bush stated. We all just kind of sat there, nobody wanting to tell The Bush that there was nothing awesome about him, thereby hurting his feelings.
The Jovi was still crying, so The Boss and I went over and beat the ever-living fuck out of him. We elected not to take his shit however, as neither of us wanted anything to do with his gay-ass cloak. We dragged him back over to the group near the dock, feeling The Jovi’s minions closing in on us. Hurriedly, we got back onto the S.S. Glen and shook The Jovi violently to try and get him to stop crying long enough for us to interrogate him.
“I’m really, really cool…” The Jovi kept uttering to himself incoherently. The Boss slapped him repeatedly yelling obscenities at him and kicking him in his left shin; one of The Jovi’s biggest weaknesses.
“Damn you The Jovi!” The Boss yelled over and over again drunkingly. I could see this would never end. Once you start beating up The Jovi, it’s so much fun that it’s hard to stop.
“Not livin’ on a prayer now are ya? You bastard!” The Boss continued.
I pulled The Boss away, handing him a bottle of 20yr Inchmurrin to help him relax.
“This is really good!” The Boss exclaimed and a bum named simply Zeke in New Haven who’d been receiving all the beer from this entry’s exclaims decided to “make it rain” with all the bottles he’d gotten. This proved unfortunate for Zeke, as all the bottles came crashing down on him, giving him a concussion and helping him slip further into insanity.
“I know, I just found about it!” I told The Boss excitedly. “It’s expensive, but it looked really awesome, so I thought we’d throw it in there.” The Boss drank it happily and all seemed right in the world.
As I looked out on the horizon, The Jovi captured, The Boss and I scotched, I knew the entry was about to end. With that in mind, I downed a bottle of 10yr Ardberg, grabbed The Jovi by the collar on his gay-ass cloak and looked him square in his damn The Jovi eyes.
“What do you know about GlenGodly?” I demanded.
-The Niles
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