Scene: The Platinum International Gym. Horatio Cornblower sits out front in a Lotus position, meditating, a bandage on his wrist. Like others who are elite among the DFO, he wears his original “KSK” patch.
Horatio Cornblower: Ohm…ohm…
Just then OSZ comes peddling up the drive, with Covalent Blonde on the handlebars of his ten-speed and Marc Trestmans Windowless Van on the seat.
OSZ (sweating heavily): Whew! Well, not too bad, guys. The first five miles went by pretty fast, but those last three were a lot harder. I wish this place wasn’t on a hill…
Covalent Blonde (hopping off the handlebars): Yeah, yeah, we’ll get you a medal later. Hey, there’s Horatio!
Marc Trestmans Windowless Van and Covalent Blonde rush over to Horatio Cornblower as OSZ collapses in the drive, the bicycle falling on top of him.
OSZ: Whoa! Hey, guys, I’m kind of light-headed here. Could someone get me some water?
Horatio Cornblower (effortlessly standing straight up from his meditative position): Hey, guys. I hope you didn’t have any problems getting here…I was getting a little worried.
Covalent Blonde: Eh, OSZ stops for traffic lights. It really slowed us down. So where’s the rumble?
Horatio Cornblower: Rumble? There’s no rumble, guys. I told Marc I took a tumble.
Covalent Blonde glares at Marc Trestmans Windowless Van, who is scratching at his ear. A Skittle falls out and hits the ground.
Marc Trestmans Windowless Van: Hey! A green one! Dibs!
Covalent Blonde (noticing Horatio Cornblower’s bandaged wrist): That looks really painful. What happened?
Horatio Cornblower: It’s okay. Pain doesn’t hurt. I was wall-climbing and my peg broke. I was only thirty feet up…that probably would’ve badly injured a normal person, but I turned it into a tuck & roll. I jammed my wrist on the landing, though. I must be getting old.
Covalent Blonde and Marc Trestmans Windowless Van look shocked and shake their heads.
Marc Trestmans Windowless Van: Dude, no, not you! You’re like, eternal, man! You’re like a guru, like Bodhi, man!
Horatio Cornblower (slapping Marc Trestmans Windowless Van on the shoulder): Much appreciated, old friend. But in any event, I need one of you to drive my bike.
Covalent Blonde: Your custom knucklehead chopper? Dibs!
Just then Horatio Cornblower’s motorcycle comes around the corner, driven by a gym employee. OSZ scrabbles out of the way as it screeches to a halt. The license plate reads:
Gym Employee: There you go, Mr. Cornblower! I had it washed and detailed while you were waiting. Is there anything else I can do?
Horatio Cornblower (peeling of a twenty for the gym employee): No, you’ve been a great help, son. Here, for all the trouble you went to.
Gym Employee: Oh, no, sir, I couldn’t take your money! After all, that advice you gave me last month saved my marriage! It’s just an honor to be of service.
Horatio Cornblower: Well, I appreciate it, son. And remember: the flower that grows wild grows best.
Marc Trestmans Windowless Van (wiping away a tear): That’s awesome, man.
Covalent Blonde gets on the bike, and Horatio Cornblower gets on behind her. She revs the engine hard and peels off down the drive. Marc Trestmans Windowless Van walks over to OSZ and sits beside him.
Marc Trestmans Windowless Van: I’m hungry. Can we go to that French bakery?
OSZ: That’s two miles in the other direction. I want to get back to the clubhouse before I completely dehydrate.
Marc Trestmans Windowless Van: All right but, y’know, it is my birthday.
OSZ: Agh! Vous êtes le pire! OK! I’ll take you to the French bakery.
Marc Trestmans Windowless Van: Cool! Dibs on the handlebars!
Cut to: The DFO clubhouse, where PK has collected almost all of his nuggets. He’s on his hands and knees, reaching under the couch for the last one.
[DOOR FLIES OPEN]
Horatio Cornblower and Covalent Blonde enter. Covalent Blonde is looking wind-blown but happy, while Horatio Cornblower doesn’t seem to have a hair out of place.
Covalent Blonde: Wow! That’s some ride you’ve got there!
Horatio Cornblower (dropping down onto the couch and putting his feet up on PK): You should see what it can do on two wheels. I’m just glad the driver of that semi truck had good reactions.
Covalent Blonde: Hey, one-way street signs are just suggestions. We had plenty of room.
PK: Uh, hey, guys.
Covalent Blonde (putting her feet up on PK as well): What really got on my nerves was that green Prius, though. I mean, lay off your horn, amirite?
Horatio Cornblower: Well, to be fair, you were driving over his car at the time.
Covalent Blonde: So he has a tire mark down the center, now. He can tell everyone it’s a racing stripe.
PK: Guys?
A secret panel in the wall opens, and Doktor Zymm steps out of her hidden laboratory. She’s wearing a white lab coat and large goggles.
Doktor Zymm: Horatio! Covalent Blonde! Vere is everyone else?
Horatio Cornblower: It’s just the two of us right now, Doc.
PK: Guys…?
Doktor Zymm: I see…zat is most unfortunate. Vith only the three of us, I foresee just a 12% chance of success.
Horatio Cornblower: Whoa, slow down, doc. You want to fill us in on what you’re talking about?
Doktor Zymm: Vat am I talking about, Horatio? Only…the end of civilization as ve know it!
PK: Hey! I found my nugget!
To be continued…
QUESTION: I’m currently writing about 800-900 words per chapter. Too long, too short, just right? I value the opinions of the DFO faithful.
“Assuming you are writing a chapter on football concussion symptoms, I hope that’s only your coverage of the Miami Marlins assistant pitching coach taking notes at his daughters softball game. Otherwise, your chapter is far too short.”
-Peter King
Don’t you change a goddamn thing. These are fantastic.
And I’m not just saying that because I’m so much more awesome in this than in real life.
Yeah, I like the length (PHRASING!)
Awesome. I appreciate the feedback, guys. I ask my wife, but she’ll never tell me if it’s too long, or too short…
(PHRASING indeed!)
I await the ultimate coming of Moose, likely in ass-less chaps.
Moose will definitely show up soon.
I can neither confirm nor deny the ass-less chaps.
I, uh, would rather not be around for the ultimate coming of Moose.
Are we not doing “phrasing”?
http://m8.i.pbase.com/g1/57/275057/2/108480788.Ch15RfKz.jpg
I like that OSZ is automatically French since he went to Paris and stuff.
I’m pretty sure that’s how it works, right? I don’t think they’re are really any French people, just tourists who never leave.
My wife would definitely leave me for this version of Horatio.
I mean, he seems so zen ya know…
Here is what I must know: Is Goodell actually the head of the FBI and trying to shut down DFO because we judge his mawkish leadership OR as a gang, are we using PK as a mule?
Who knew so much time in a locker could lead to spiritual clarity?
I’m not sure what’s funnier; the idea that I’m some kind of warrior-philosiphizer or the idea that I tip.
I didn’t know you were black.
Great job, but we need more random, twisted violence applied to PK
Seriously – quit teasing me with PK being vulnerable and then no one welding a knife.
I was really expecting Doc to hit him in the head when she opened the secret lab door.
I’m really hoping Doc is the DFO version of Krieger and PK is one of the Pigglies.
I think it has to end with PK getting a concussion, and the NFL specialist won’t let him leave to search for more nuggets.
I don’t know what I like better, Zymm the statistician as a mad scientist, or my walk-on role as the “gym employee.”
That was me, right?
That was nice work on your part Lothar. No small parts, just small actors and you were huge. I’m looking forward to my walk on as random old guy #4, though it’s probably already on the cutting room floor.
I imagine our good doktor works in her lab a little like this.
https://xkcd.com/699/
Zee plot, it thicken…
http://www.itulip.com/images/clapping.gif
I have a new go-to gif.
When’s my turn to test the probie?
A blowbang isn’t a blowbang until everyone has their shot
I wasn’t boo-ing; I was saying “Bu-kkake!”
Good lord, Martin, I’m not writing snuff here! Who knows what carnage would occur if I let you at PK?