Avert Apocalypse, order hashbrowns

The non-coffin-shattered door to The Facility’s meeting room opened, Madame Teal walked in and surveyed the destruction.

“Dammit.  No smiting left,” she said, shaking her head.  “I’ve neutralized the security guards and gotten the keys for the activities van.  We should probably go, if we’re going to get Lindsay away from–wait, he’s right there.”
“Yeah,” Kelly said.  “Turns out he’s a good guy.”

“But he was married to Roseanne, for cryin’ out loud.”

“Oh, that,” Tom Arnold laughed.  “Yeah.  She’s in the Order of St Michael the Archangel as well.  Being nutballs is just our cover.”

“Um…well done?” offered Madame Teal.  “Okay, you all head out the front door.  I’ll reanimate your fellow patients and be right behind you.”

“Madame Teal,” Dmitri spoke up.  “How will you do that?”

Kelly Vision palm-foreheaded at the minion’s impudence.

“Like this,” Madame Teal purred.  Her eyes, already the deepest, most beautiful green, began to glow, like somebody shining a klieg light through a kiwifruit, but the beautiful green fleshy part, not that gross beige fuzzy skin part.  (It should be noted that The Stranger’s tongue, after his malt liquor/egg concoction, now looked like the aforemaligned kiwifruit skin)

“We should go,” Ms Sister said, taking Lindsay’s hand and guiding her old friend gingerly through the door.  The rest of the friends and good minions, and Tom Arnold (Senior Knight of the Order of St Michael the Archangel) followed.  They walked through the dark halls of The Facility.  The counselors and security guards were passed-out cold, looks of bewildered contentment on their faces.

“What happened to them?” asked Tabitha. 

“Madame Teal’s special gift,” replied Ginger. 

“Will they be okay?”

“They’re having the best dreams they’ve ever had in their lives, dreams beyond description.  Biscuits and gravy and nookie and sunsets and key lime pie.”

Tom Arnold took another big swallow of coffee. “The front door is this way.”

The seven humans and Sam walked out the door, only to find Madame Teal sitting in The Facility van’s driver’s seat.

“How the–” Dmitri started.

“Apparation? Bending the space-time continuum? Duh!” Madame Teal reached out the window and smacked Dmitri on the forehead.  “Hello! McFly!” Then she laughed and smacked him on the ass.

The crew piled into the van, and Madame Teal headed off to a nearby Denny’s.  LiLo smoked a Djarum Black clove cigar, and savored the smoke in her lungs.  She visibly relaxed.  Tom Arnold took another long pull of Dunkin Donut’s coffee.

“There’s nothing but decaf in the place.” 

The ragtag group disembarked and went inside, settling at a table for ten.

A persnickety waitress walked up.  “I’m sorry, but the dog can’t be in here.”

Madame Teal looked at the waitress, her eyes glowing.  “There’s no dog here.  Just that Gucci bag my friend has.”

The waitress’ eyes swam briefly.  “Of course that’s not a dog.  It’s a beautiful Gucci bag.”

“And this beautiful Gucci bag wants a plate of crisp bacon, toots, so look sharp,” answered Frank Sinatra.

The friends ordered around the table, till it came time for Lindsay to order.

She looked at Ginger Sister furtively.  “Um, Gingie? Did you score for me?”

“Of course I did, honey.”

“YAY! I’d just like a bowl and three glasses of milk.”

The waitress formerly known as persnickety withdrew with their orders.

An awkward silence settled over the table, till Kelly Vision finally spoke.

“So,  Mr Arnold?”
“Tom!”

“Okay, Tom? Is there something you’re not telling us?” She sighed.  “I mean, Gingie calls one afternoon, and says she read in the Globe that you’re Lindsay’s new bff in The Facility, and we mount a part-supersonic cross-country rescue mission, but apparently you knew something was up.  What gives?”

“Oh, that.”  Tom Arnold laughed, then chugged some more coffee. “Well, as soon as Lindsay came to The Facility, The Order of St Michael the Archangel knew Cheneymonster would try and smite her.  So, we cooked up a story about me having a heroin addiction.”

“Pills,” Lindsay corrected.

“Oh, yeah.  Pills.  Whatever.  I don’t have any real vices, except coffee.  Never have.”

“But you’re kinda wired, like, in the extreme!”

“Hah!” He chugged more coffee.  “Four hundred eleven years old, and still high on life, kid.  Anyway, the Order sent me here to protect Lindsay.  Sam knew something was going down, so he leaked the story about me and LiLo to the Globe, knowing that Ginger always reads it during her foot massages.”

“But how did Sam know?”

“Sam’s in The Order of St Michael the Archangel.”

“Sam’s a Methodist dog, not Catholic,” corrected Kelly.

“I don’t subscribe to any specific DOGMA!! GET IT??? DOGMA!” replied the Gucci bag, in the voice of Bill Cosby.

Kelly Vision threw up a little in her mouth at the horrible pun. 

“The Order isn’t Catholic or Methodist or anything.  Michael the Archangel was around before any of them, and he’s revered in Christianity, Judaism, even Islam.   When certain heinous evils need battling, he sends word, and we mobilize, so I came in to protect Lindsay.”

“But the…uh.  The fire?”

“Oh, yeah.  That’s Holy Fire, which is why the evil minions turned to dust.”

Dmitri had reached his breaking point.  “You lit a fart! How is lighting a FART Holy Fire??”

“It came from Brussels Sprouts.”

“And??”

“St Michael the Archangel is the Patron Saint of Brussels.  I’m in the Order, so…”

“So you can blow green Holy Fire out your ass any time you eat Brussels Sprouts?”

“Easy there, sculpted boy.  I couldn’t randomly eat Brussels Sprouts and fart Holy Fire.  It has to be mission-critical.”

“And tonight?”

“Well, I knew Cheneymonster was making his move tonight.”

“How?”

“Boston Cream Pie for dessert.”

“Wha?”

“It’s so rich, it’s practically evil.  Read the signs, kid.”

“And the shrimp scampi?”

“Yeah, it was just shrimp night, that’s all.  Not every course is a portent.”

Dmitri’s head hit the table.

Lindsay piped up.  “So what about when V for Vendetta guy dumped coffee on Cheneymonster?”

“Oh.  It was my turn to make the coffee before the meeting.  I put in a half-pint of Holy Water, just in case he escaped the fart.  That was good thinking there, V.  You’re not in the Order, are you?”

“I claim no guidance from St Michael’s angelic eye;

But I do remember Fast Times at Ridgemont High.”

Everyone looked at The Stranger, wanting to ask why he was speaking in rhyme.  Then again, the man was wearing a Guy Fawkes mask and a cape, so they let it go. 

“Either way, nice job.”

The waitress returned with their orders.  She was still a little dazed by Madame Teal’s little mind bump, but she managed to distribute the various omelets, country-fried steak, biscuits and gravy, Moons Over My Hammy, and empty bowl with three glasses of cold milk.  “And a plate of bacon for the Gucci bag.”

“Nice job, doll.  Hey, loincloth.  Duke the dame a $50,” replied Frank Sinatra, smacking the waitress on the ass.

“SAM!”

If the waitress thought it was unusual that a Gucci bag ordered bacon, smacked her ass, or spoke to her in the Rat Packtacular voice of Frank Sinatra, she didn’t let on.

Lindsay spoke up meekly.  “Gingie?? My stuff??”

“Oh!! Sorry honey.”  Ginger handed a small attache case to Lindsay.  She opened it, and her eyes grew big.

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12 Responses to “Avert Apocalypse, order hashbrowns”

  1. This is all stuff I didn’t see coming. Even more than all the other stuff.

    Although it’s gonna get messy if Sam’s eating bacon again.

    • I don’t think anyone in his or her right mind would have seen all this coming. Not even St Michael the Archangel, more than likely. Thanks for continuing to stop by, LT, no matter how weird it gets.

  2. Biscuits and gravy and nookie and sunsets and key lime pie… My pleasure center just melted down in a massive orgasmic overload…

  3. Dude, as long as I’m getting all that, watch my eyes glow. LOL

  4. Moon over my hammy. Snert!

    • Oh, Lauri. Believe it or snert, the “Moons Over My Hammy” is a Denny’s favorite, and one of the few seemingly nutso things in this story I didn’t make up. (As I recall, they were very good post-imbibing food :D)

  5. Kelly and I were just talking yesterday about how Madam Teal had not shown up, and that the mysterious pick-up at Dave’s hadn’t been divulged, and here you are, way ahead of us. Clearly it’s because our ass-smacking alter-egos have considerably more deductive power.
    Nice Dan Brown twist BTW. Angels and Demons, caffeine and key lime pie, this just keeps getting better and better.

    • You and Kel were just talking yesterday about this? That is a conversation i’d love to hear. 😉 I actually read Dan Brown’s latest a few weeks ago. It wasn’t bad, but I noted the conspicuous lack of any ass-smacking or evil-minion-smiting lighted farts. St Michael really is the patron saint of Brussels. He’s probably unamused. Anyway, I hope I don’t let you and Ms Vision down. Or the Sinatraesque Gucci handbag.

  6. The kiwifruit similes are particularly great.

  7. […] Avert Apocalypse, order hashbrowns November 2010 10 comments […]

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