by Carnivorousplant
Foreword
One of the many secrets of that mysterious borough of the Bronx is the chemical agent found there that mystics use to communicate over vast distances. I used such an agent to contact Carprk Carlot after his starship, the intended route of which was a sleepover on Mars, or Barsoom as it is called by the Martians, and a toilet paper rolling of Venus, or Amtor as it is called by the Venusians, crash landed on Patagonia, or Patagonia as it is called by the Patagonians, due to a slight navigational error and/or the ingestion of certain mystical chemical agents.
Rapidly discovering that the only human female on the planet (until such time as the plot may demand it), Jane Wannabe, a voluptuous American, was imprisoned by the Patagonian Cavies who inhabit Patagonia, Carprk Carlot lost no time in attempting to rescue her from durance vile, although he did not determine how she came to arrive in Patagonia, that being immaterial to our tale since we need a sex interest, not a physics lesson. Freed from her prison of cedar shavings and tiny green pellets, Jane declared her devotion to Our Hero, or at least to his wallet for the time being.
Being occupied with the legal authorities and incarcerated for some period of time, I was held incommunicado and unable to contact Carprk Carlot until I arranged certain financial considerations to expedite my release and uncovered the mystical communication wave known as “Mad Dog 20/20” in an alley near 142nd Street. Hence, the latest communication from Carprk Carlot on the planet Patagonia.
Chapter One
Having built my submarine for the exploration of the land-locked continental desert with some limited help from the most brilliant Patagonian (Or Patagonian, as they are called by the Patagonians) scientists, Jane Wannabe and I prepared to continue our flight to Who Knows Where, the maps of Patagonia (OPAIICBTP) being smeared with strange green pellets. Our greatest fear was pursuit by her former captors, the Patagonian Cavies, eight-armed creatures resembling twenty-five foot hamsters with foul breath. The strange green pellets with which they bombard foe and friend alike can be disgusting if not truly deadly. Built with the light weight material Duo-Tang know only to the Patagonian (OPAIICBTP) scientists, and powered by the infinite, massless, and invisible power source Xir-Com, I had provided the submarine with eighteen tires covered with the indestructible Cryptonight ray, curb feelers, and ground effect lighting. We were well equipped with a boom box incorporating a CD player, several ISDN modems, sling shots, a Game-Boy and Pay-Per-View. The spacious vehicle incorporated a soccer field and a petting zoo. I opened the conning tower hatch followed closely by my lovely Significant Other. “Did you remember your wallet, Darling?,” she solicitously inquired. Nodding, I checked my Imation pistol and threw the engine, or rather, transmission AIICBTP (and most mechanics), into gear.
Chapter Two
Peering through the peeriscope, (or pering through the periscope as it is…but I digress.) I determined that we were being pursued by Patagonia Cavies riding Galapagos Tortoises. The tortoises could keep up a slow but determined pace as long as the Cavies continued to snap the reptiles private parts with elastic bands. Our frequent stops to throw away Popsicle sticks and adjust the satellite pay-per-view antenna would allow these angry and sadly abused tortoises and their riders to catch up with us in a matter of weeks.
Realizing that I must make a stand, I freed my sword from its scabbard and began to clamber down the hull to face our foes.
“Wait!” exclaimed my beloved Significant Other, “You forgot to leave me the keys!” Thanking my intelligent far-thinking Partner, or Significant Other as they are known by Significant Others, I handed her the keys and continued my descent, “And your wallet.”
Chapter Three
Facing the three Patagonian Cavies, I trusted in my White-Anglo-Saxon-Protestant muscles to out maneuver the cumbersome Cavies and my Manly British Honor to out think them. I struck a mighty blow at the shin of the closest. Bending to scratch, he fell over and I struck him in the neck. Stiff fur deflected the blow, and the other Cavies were closing in. I deflected a spear thrust, ducked under an enormous green pellet, turned and ran for my life. “Bloody Hell!” I remarked, drew my Imation pistol, fired over my shoulder and vaporized them into malodorous green pellets.
Turning, I determined that Jane and the submarine were not in sight. I was alone in the Patagonian desert with my sword, my pistol, several large green pellets and the pay per view receipts.
Chapter Four
There was still the Patagonian communication device. Invented by the Patagonians and encapsulating the RJ45 wave, it could theoretically communicate with any other such device on the planet. I removed it from my back pocket, flipped it open and clicked on a few objects indiscriminately. “The Patagonian User or PUAIICBTP you wish to contact is either not in the service area or owes us a lot of money.”
“Well shit.” I employed a colorful Earth metaphor. I had a sword that might knee-cap a Cavie if I had a ladder and was lucky, my Imation pistol had shot its wad, and roaming wasn’t working. A woman, no matter how Significantly my Other, had my wheels. And I needed to pee really, really bad.
Afterword
And here the Mad Dog 20/20 wave was exhausted and I lost contact with Carprk Carlot of Patagonia. It is hoped that some derivative of the MD 20/20 wave will be found in mushrooms, cigarette packets, or growing on something in the refrigerator and that communication can be restored. Until then we can only speculate as to Carlot’s re-rescue of the lovely Jane Wannabe, his actions against the Patagonian Cavies (or Patagonian Cavies as they are known to Patagonian Cavies), the recovery of his ride and the efficacy of his bladder control.