>>Chapter 5
TOM: Whoa, whoa! Five? What happened to the first four chapters?
MIKE: I think we just read them.
TOM: What? Five chapters to tell us some computer-game designer without a social life (a horrid stereotype which in no way is validated in the real world, may I add) has been having strange dreams about some space-broad, discovers he's the last man on earth not to be aware of the existence of the oh so top-secret Area 51 lab, and decides to pop off to see if he can find her or at least her phone-number and address?
MIKE: Pretty much.
TOM: I sense some deep hurting coming up.
>>"Hold on, buster. What are you doing in here?"
TOM: Buster? Buster?!
CROW: Gosh golly gee there, stop please or I may get very irked at you!
TOM: <Marvin the Martian> You are making me very angry.
MIKE: Area 51's been playing around with the ol' temporal shifts again I see.
CROW: Andy Griffith makes his special guest appearance.
>>The voice was almost a shout, a command.
MIKE: Ah, the William Shatner style of writing I see.
TOM: A command, a shout, a thing, that, we, must, stoooop, Spock!
>>Perkins was startled. He thought he was safe.
CROW: Safe? In Area 51? Poor, poor deluded Perkins. He's the sort of guy that got sand kicked in his face by the 90 pound weaklings.
>>But as he looked behind him, he could see the security guards running,
>>apparently his way.
TOM: Apparently his way? Either they're running towards him or they aren't, author.
CROW: Maybe all the guards are really drunk and are running in wobbly circles that only sort of look like they're going towards him.
MIKE: No, I think that the writer was just trying to meet his minimum word requirements.
>>He had to hurry. He just hoped they hadn't seen him. Or maybe...just
>>maybe they spotted Gonzales standing outside the compound.
TOM: Or maybe, just maybe, the top-secret, high-level, state-of-the-art, possibly alien-enhanced security system that undoubtedly extends outwards for several miles, just happened to pick you up like a bright neon-radioactive-500-foot-tall-monster descending on Tokyo, huh? Huh?!? HUH?!?!?!
MIKE: Whoa, whoa, Servo, calm down already! We've just started.
TOM: I just needed to get it out of my system before it built to dangerous levels.
CROW: Neon Radioactive monster descending on Tokyo?
TOM: Bite me!
CROW: Miiiiike! He's stealing my lines!
MIKE: Now, Crow, don't tease Servo about his riffs. Servo? Let Crow keep his catch phrases.
>>What to do? He wanted desperately to turn back and help his old friend,
>>but he knew there was no returning now. Gonzales had warned him not
>>to attempt a rescue.
TOM: Despite the fact that Gonzales is out there and you're in here with a bunch of armed guards rushing towards you. Who was needing rescuing again?
MIKE: Oh, don't worry about Gonzales. Nothing can catch "ze fastest mouse in all Mehico!"
CROW: Arriba! Andale!! Andale!!!*zaping!*
>>For a moment, that inner conflict bubbled at the surface, and he was
>>almost oblivious to his surroundings.
TOM: Again. "Almost oblivious?" He's in an 'almost coma.' He's 'not-quite dead.'
CROW: <Monty Python> I'm not dead yet.
>>It was dark,
MIKE: And stormy night.
CROW: Suddenly, a shot rang out!
TOM: The maid screamed.
MIKE: A pirate ship appeared on the horizon.
>>and he had remained in the shadows around the wall lining the base,
>>hoping to remain invisible.
CROW: <sing-song, Perkins> You can't see me, neener neener neener.
TOM: Because god forbid that the guards at this top secret military, maximum security installation have things like, oh, infra-red scanners, motion sensors, or even those marvelous devices known as flashlights.
>>He thought of that old radio character, The Shadow, who would
>>instinctively find dark corners and doorways and remain hidden from
>>prying eyes.
TOM: Who knows what crap lurks in the hearts of authors?
CROW: Oh, oh, oh! Mememe!
MIKE: Note that the preceding in no way implies that all authors are bad; just the ones that suck.
>Of course, that was just fiction, rather silly pulp fiction, he thought.
TOM: Uh, author? When your own main character starts to riff your own story, you know you've got problems.
>>With all the intelligence work he did, he'd never quite mastered the
>>technique of remaining undetected.
CROW: Well, it's easy to see why he's ex-military then.
MIKE: <Perkins> Well, they told me to practice firing a gun, but I thought to myself, heck, when would I ever need to know how to do that?
TOM: Involved in the intelligence services. Check. Now tell me, Perkins, did you ever lose any sisters? Do you have a heavily skeptic yet attractive partner? Hang out with mysterious benefactors named after porn movies?
>>Then he heard footsteps in the distance and loud shouts. But the words
>>overlapped each other, and he wasn't able to determine if they had seen
>>him or not.
MIKE: <Guard 1> I knew we shouldn't have installed that pet door in here. Raccoons wandering through the autopsy room, skunks playing around with the death laser...
CROW: <Guard 2> Last one to the Bio-ooze pool is a big doody-head!
TOM: <Guard 3> Hurry, if we pick up our pace, we might be able to escape this story before the author notices we're gone!
>>He had no choice, really.
MIKE: With Santa down with a cold, the reindeer poached by hunters, the elves on strike, and the workshops bombed by the WTO, it was up to him to save Christmas.
>>He had to run somewhere to safety, and so he stepped up his pace, trying
>>as hard as he could to stay in the darkness and away from the moving
>>searchlights above.
TOM: So why don't they just fire up the generator and turn on the flood-lights so that the entire base is lit?
MIKE: Oh, no more flood-lights I'm afraid. After the whole Mars Probe thing, there were some massive budget cuts in all the space-related programs. Actually, Area 51 is just an abandoned hanger these days, the spaceship is being studied by some mechanic named Jimbo. Sad really.
>>He entered a clump of bushes, trying to keep up his pace, and stay hidden
>>at the same time.
>>But his efforts were too successful. He couldn't even see obstacles in the
>>gravel beneath his feet.
TOM: So... He was so good at hiding from other people that he was hidden from himself?
CROW: No, no. He was so hidden that even the light couldn't find his eyes, effectively blinding him until he accidentally blundered out into the open where the light could find him again. Unfortunately, so did the guards, so he only got about three seconds of sight before they shot him full of holes, oh, look, story over, guess I'd better leave.
MIKE: Get back here you.
>>And he tripped and fell over a circular protrusion in the ground,
>>apparently a manhole cover. He could not keep his balance, and as he
>>landed on the ground, his head grazed against a rock.
CROW: You know, Rafael is going to kick your ass but good when you wake up.. You're blocking the Pizza delivery there.
TOM: Ladies and gentlemen, our hero.
MIKE: It's Easily Bamboozled Man!
TOM: Gets Bruised In a Light Wind Man!
CROW: A Head So Tiny Gravel Is As Rocks To It Man!
>>He fell into unconsciousness....
TOM: From lightly grazing his head after falling four feet? Ol' Perkins here must get a torn ligament from getting up too fast in the morning.
CROW: And the award for Most Awkward Introduction of a Dream Sequence goes to...
>>All was silent around him, but then the dreams came.
CROW: And the dreams said, 'Let there be net-writing' and lo there was net-writing, and the net-writing stank to the Nine Heavens above, and the dreams were pleased.
>>The spaceships, and the blasts of firepower billowing throughout the
>>skies, and above all else was her image, radiant, beautiful and sad all at
>>the same time.
MIKE: Looks like she's finally realized that out of all the people on Earth she could've created an inseparable mental bond with, it had to be with Gets Winded Picking Up His Mail here.
>>She seemed closer than ever now, yet again so real he could almost touch
>>her.
CROW: If ya know what I mean, nudge nudge, wink wink.
>>And then Perkins woke up.
CROW: <Perkins> And you were there, and you were there, and you all were there!
TOM: Just like that? He's awake? Was there a point to that? At all? Hello? Author? Please tell us the point of that.
MIKE: Like I said, Servo, he's just trying to reach his minimum word requirement. Just ignore it and move on.
>>It was still night, and he was aching all over.
TOM: Dam, those alien anal probes are rough!
CROW: Bet they won't call him in the morning either. The pigs.
>>There was hardly a spot on his body that didn't sting with pain. He tried
>>to inspect himself in the darkness and felt the cuts on his legs and arms.
MIKE: All this from slipping on a gravel path. I give him two, three seconds tops once he hits the alien war-zone.
TOM: Probably bleed to death from a paper-cut long before then at this rate.
>>His head hurt, and he fervently wished he had brought along the
>>medicine he used to take for those terrible migraines, but no such luck.
>>He slowly brushed his hands against his forehead and felt the caked
>>blood.
MIKE: <Martha Stewart> Now, after you've let your hero lie in a stupor for five hours, lightly roll him in gravel and let him set. The blood cake will soon be completed, and that's a good thing...
>>He must be a sight. His pants and shirt had gaping tears,
ALL: Oh, Agh, Eiush, Did not want to see that!
>>but he had no broken bones, at least he didn't think so.
TOM: Oh, don't worry, there's a pack of angry chipmunks passing along that will be happy to fix that for you.
>>Perkins sighed and sat up briefly, then got up, as the aches seemed to
>>spread throughout his body again.
TOM: Again? They've done this before?
CROW: Oh, yes. The yearly migration of aches is one of the true wonders of nature. Each fall, thousands of aches arise from their year-long homes amidst the burrows and tunnels of the wild fields, and en-mass they swarm across the lands until they reach the sea-sides of the land. Then, as one, they all rush headlong into the frothing waters and... um... Sorry, was thinking of something else.
MIKE: Riiiiight...
>>I'm just getting too old for this...
TOM: Lethal Weapon rip-off. Check.
MIKE: Since when was that a prerequisite of a conspiracy novel?
TOM: It's not. This is my list of reasons why the massive mail-bombing I'm going to commit is justified.
MIKE: Don't make me ban your net-connection. Again.
CROW: I swear, I don't know how those pictures of Pamela Anderson Lee got on there, let alone with the German Shep-
<Mike reaches over and clicks Crow's beak shut>
MIKE: Moving on.
>>He didn't finish the thought. The crickets had stopped chirping, and
>>there was a frightful silence.
TOM: And now we're in horror, oh thank you story, like I wasn't getting enough double takes as it was.
CROW: Poor Perkins. All this just to be that nerdy guy who gets offed by the ax-wielding maniac before the opening credits even roll.
>>Then he heard a sound in the distance, and his ears perked up.
TOM: Perkins perky perks perked! It's funny. Really. Laugh!
CROW: No.
>>Not a rattlesnake!
TOM: Oh, it's not? Good thing, I'm deathly allergic.
MIKE: To rattlesnakes?
TOM: No, to crappy, cheesy, overused plot devices.
>>They were common in these parts, and he hadn't given the possibility of
>>their presence much thought, hoping they'd feel the same about him.
>>He just wanted to run, get out of there as fast as possible. But just then
>>he heard footsteps. Security guards no doubt!
TOM: Or perhaps it was Gonzales out there trying to find him? Nah...
CROW: Poor ET, wandering about out there, trying to find a quarter...
MIKE: Should just try 1-800-CALL-ATT.
CROW: Don't make me hurt you, flesh-boy.
>>He didn't see anyone, but he stayed hidden, again seeking the shelter of
>>the shadows.
TOM: Um, excuse me story, but haven't we already seen this?
CROW: Good god! The time machine that brought out our Good Humor security guard has failed to be Y2K compliant, we're all trapped in a never-ending temporal-loop of pain!!
>>The sound of the rattlesnake got closer, accompanied by a slithering
>>sound in the gravel beneath his feet. He was still many yards away, but
>>the sound seemed to increase in intensity, as if something were closing in
>>on him.
TOM: Whoa! Looks like we've under-estimated old Perkins here. He can hear that snake slither 15 feet away *and* be able to identify its species in the deepest blackness?
MIKE: Perkins is the Daredevil.
CROW: More like the Might-Risk-It Person-of-Low-Moral-Character.
>>Perkins began to sweat, but held his breath to a shallow rhythm, moving
>>slowly, deliberately, cautiously, away from the horrible sound of that
>>predator.
CROW: I was never before aware just what a deadly monster of the untamed deserts this foot long, cold blooded creature was.
TOM: What about the footsteps? I seem to remember a guard being somewhere around. Or Gonzales. Or Bigfoot, it was never really determined. Story? Hello?
>>Just ahead was the hangar, precisely as shown on the map drawn by
>>Gonzales.
MIKE: With additional input by Tweedy.
CROW: However, instead of detailing the positions of the numerous guard stations, all the map showed was the location of the 'Mean ol' putty-tat'. Perkins, having shown up armed only with a catnip mouse and scratching post, was quickly subdued and introduced to the scientists as test subject number 117a.
>>It had all come back to him now, the shouting of the security guards, the
>>running.
TOM: A truly amazing feat of recall considering the entire thing only happened about five minutes ago.
MIKE: Thrill to intense remembering action!
>>If not him, then--.
>>Oh, my God, they really did find Manny!
TOM: Manny? Who's Manny? Did you slip another character in while we weren't looking, story?
MIKE: I keep telling you, that pet door was a bad idea. Look what's creeping in when we're not paying attention.
CROW: No, no, Manny is Speedy's first name.
TOM: Manny the mouse?
CROW: Butch cousin of Mickey.
MIKE: I'm sorry, but I just do not see a Mexican named "Manny" working. <German accent> Hi, Am Manny and we're going to pump you ap!
>>Of course, when I heard the security guards before, they actually were
>>talking to him!
ALL: Aahhh!!!
TOM: Stop doing that! Or I'll sue you for whiplash for sure!
CROW: Uh, when did we switch to first-person here?
MIKE: Actually, I think that's supposed to be thought right there.
CROW: Ah, and no italics to make it easy for us. The author is still stupid, just in a different way then we originally thought. That's nice.
>>Perkins resisted the temptation to turn around and see.
MIKE: Scattered pillars of salt across the base bore testimony to the other people who'd tried that.
CROW: Knowing that if he did, his beloved Manny would be lost to the clutches of the Underworld xenomorphs for all time. So tragic.
>>His old friend had
>>warned him not to attempt a rescue, regardless of what happened. He
>>hoped beyond hope that the crafty old soldier would somehow be able to
>>talk his way out of any trouble.
TOM: <Speedy> Oh no senior gato, I am much too tiny for yeuuu.
MIKE: All right, that's enough Loony Tunes.
CROW: Aww, but we have enough material for at least three more riffs.
MIKE: No.
>>But what if it didn't work? What if Gonzales had already been
>>imprisoned, facing a court martial? He wanted to save his pension, spend
>>his remaining years relaxing with his wife and kid and now--this?
MIKE: All right crew, let's review. Minority.
CROW: Check.
MIKE: Has wife and kids.
CROW: Check.
MIKE: Is retired, supporting family, has bright, sunny, peaceful future before him.
CROW: Check.
MIKE: Has yet to be detailed in any way, or given any sort of character depth.
CROW: Check.
MIKE: He is so dead.
CROW: Amen, brother.