petulant Caruso, who
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petulant Caruso, who
was liveblogging the
proceedings from his
dirigible fortress above.
"Anybody care what
Caruso's blog says?
"' asked Milch cheerfully.
"No, not really,"
replied Sipowicz, with
hammer cocking sounds
and a grin.
"Dude, what're you
doing with that
gun?" snarled Dean,
"We've wrapped. Let's
put the props
to the wind
and get out
of here," said
Steven Spielberg, turning
away from the
key grip and
best boy. Sipowicz
, utterly nonplussed, began
firing the gun
at random passersby.
"Oh, not again."
"Die! Die! Die!"
"Andy, buddy, chill."
Milch tried to
wrest the gun
free from Sipowicz's
grasp, and amazingly,
was flung aside
by the power
of deus ex
campus sinister, whereupon
the Sister Wives
converged upon the
producer like jackals.
"Just once I'd
like an episode
where the whole
cast doesn't lose
their freakin' minds.
", Milch moaned. "Is
there something in
the heroin that
you shot up
before the take?"
"No, fool! I
am simply exercising
my homicidal tendencies
in a manner
befitting a sociopath
such as myself."
Sipowicz pulled the
most ghastly faces
out of his
Bag of Holding
and flung them
screaming across the
room. The faces
, distorted with hate
and gas, clung
limply to the
walls as everyone
slowly inched away
from the spectacle.
Meanwhile, far overhead,
the Black Captain
stroked his incontinent
pussycat and smiled.
"What the hell
is going on
?" demanded Hobbit Dean.
The Black Captain
shot a dart
into the heart
of a random
Sister Wife, who
collapsed.
"Oh my
god, what the
heckity doo daa
shall we do?"
asked Wife #2,
who had a slight
case of the
disease commonly called
marthambles, but still
persevered against her
declining motor skills.
Sam Winchester valiantly
ran towards the
first Wife, who
still breathed, but
was clearly not
going to play
parcheesi that afternoon.
Sam wept.
Then
something amazing happened!
A choir of
cherubim, seraphim and
other sundry angeloids
appeared hovering around
the airship, singing
"Glory, glory, glory!"
"Is that supposed
to make a
difference?" sobbed Sam.
"Glory, glory, glory,
Lord God Almighty!"
sang the angels.
Sam, not a
bit comforted, cursed
the useless heavenly
creatures.
Peter Jackson
, no angel himself,
filed a lawsuit
in an attempt
to stop the
imminent release of
Dean/Odo fanfic
that had been
brewing in the
darkest pits of
Burbank's many studios.
Things were now
looking grim for
entire cast of
this absurd revue.
"I have an
awful idea that
just might work."
Everyone looked at
the horrible mutant
who was speaking
through his gaping
mouth, dripping with
oil and honey.
Kolokolokolokolokolokolokolokolokolokolokoloko, the mutant,
whose name fortunately
was pronounced "Joe"
by the heathens,
staggered towards the
now-absurd collection
of actors, castaways
and supernatural beings.
"Joe," realizing that
Kolokolokolokolokolokolokolokolokolokolokoloko was a
bit too long
for common conversation.
"My plan will
finally end this
frankly dizzying series
of plot twists.
What we need
is to simply
gather everyone together
and say two
quick Ave Marias."
"Worth trying", Dean
agreed. Sipowicz was
crying into his
humour-soaked rosary
while Milch reached
for another beer.
"Let us begin!"
"Wait!" Cried Spielberg.
"What?" Milch asked.
"Ave Maria? Spielberg?"
"Isn't there a
7-11 anywhere nearby?"
, suddenly asked one
of the crowd
of tiny green
men who had
(unbeknownst to Kolokolokolokolokolokolokolokolokolokolokoloko)
gathered at the
mouth of the
bottomless pit that
rapidly opened amid
the confused mass
of disoriented Latvians.
"Ko mēs darām
and so on."
Suddenly the Latvians
cowered in fear
of Imperial Satan
and his Imperial
Storm Troopers.
"Well,
," Kolokolokolokolokolokolokolokolokolokolokoloko said offhandedly, "
I guess that
would make this
a spread misere."
"Indeed it would,
my alien friend,"
sighed Rorschach, who
, along with Horshack,
had just arrived.