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« Friday Cephalopod: Vividly molluscan | Main | Episode CLXVI: Oh, christ…more spam from that guy? »

More articles by PZ Myers can be found on Freethoughtblogs at the new Pharyngula!

The Papacy Pastiche

Category: Weirdness
Posted on: February 4, 2011 5:30 PM, by PZ Myers

So, you know, I had this idea for a novel. I started it, but I've since discovered that jewel-like prose and engaging story-telling is a little bit hard, and when I couldn't finish the whole thing over lunch, I've sort of given up. But then I had another brilliant idea! I'll put up the first significant piece of the story, the really really important part, and let you people finish the rest for me. Just post the subsequent chapters in the comments, and I'll splice them together and publish them and make a million dollars, and even more when I sell the movie rights. I'll be sure to include your names somewhere in the endnotes.

Prologue

The Vatican. Midnight.

Recently elevated Pope August III hurtled through the art-splattered halls of the Vatican, oblivious to the priceless beauty surrounding him, not even the precious original Da Vinci on the wall, which his staff had recently bought for $117 million American dollars — chump change for the wealthy cleric. He limped and staggered, blood streaming down his silken robes, but still he raced forward, away from the menacing terror pursuing him. He scurried through a door into the fabulous Cellini salt cellar, vaulted with papal agility over the stack of sainted femurs in the center of the room, and was then undone…he collided with Michaelangelo's Pieta, and collapsed into her arms, on top of the dead Jesus, who was in no state to mind. His pope hat fell off with a clatter, revealing not a virile and powerful servant of God, but a tired, feeble old man, his face lined with care, his aged pores oozing sweat, his blood dripping like scarlet pancake batter, only runnier, onto the expensive marble figure that now cradled his exhausted form.

"So many popes," he contemplated, "so many popes have died lately…and now it is my turn."

He roared, "In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, reveal yourself, monster!"

"Ha ha ha," slithered a grim voice from the shadows beyond the ornate gateway into the Renaissance salt cellar, which spanned the 14th to the 17th century. "Your Holiness. Or should I say, My Holiness, for soon, I shall take into my body yet another relic. You shall join Popes Jonathan II, Elwin XVII, Rhadagast, and Roger the First!"

Then a ghastly giant stepped out of the shadows. His face was a mass of scars. The fading Pope was startled: that left ear! That was the ear of Pope Edward! Those hair plugs — the ginger curls of the deceased Pope Tim Robert were unmistakeable! And when the patchwork giant strode forward and smiled his evil smile that roiled with untold promises of wickedness, there could be no doubt — that was the left upper incisor of Pope William Bob VI, his childhood friend. He recognized the chip in the corner that the dead Pope and prior boon companion had lost as a boy in friendly game of stickball on the streets of Dallas.

"Whose corneas is this fiend using to look on me?" wondered the Texan Pope, only the second Texan to achieve the glorious heights of the hierarchy. "I might be able to tell, if only I weren't colorblind, and this cursed sweat and blood weren't trickling into my eyes and making it difficult to recognize the identity of my killer."

"Ha ha," fleered the beast, "Say your prayers, Pope! Bless your flesh and make it even more holy for when I absorb it!" Then the ravening giant advanced and raised a shiny radial bone saw, flicking the switch and making the blades blur into a semblance of vicious, whining life. And then the room fell silent. Except for the papal screams, the horrible, awful screams. Oh, and the saw noise, too.


Professional atheist Josiah Zebediah Mordecai, "JZ" to his friends, was savoring a glass of Chateau La Boef in his opulent hotel room just off the Palazzo in Rome. He'd just completed a most satisfactory debunking of yet another bleeding statue hoax, and was looking forward to the large check from the Atheist Society that would be waiting for him at his luxurious penthouse in Manhattan. Perhaps he would buy another sportscar to add to his collection, he thought.

There was a knock at the door.

He bolted forward and flung open the heavy oaken portal to his lair. It was a nun!

JZ gazed intensely on the young follower of Jesus Christ at his door. Her lips were full and pouty; her tongue licked them enticingly. Her eyes widened as she took in the strong form of the bold heathen. They were blue; not that weird pale blue that makes it look like you have no irises, but a dark, rich blue, like a tropical lagoon into which a passing cruise ship had dumped those vivid chemicals they use in their toilets. Her magnificent breasts heaved beneath a starched wimple that could not hide their magnificence, and her hips were full and round, like a giant peach, and JZ's mouth instinctively watered. "Mmmm, holy forbidden peaches," he dreamed.

"Zhay-see, you are my onlee 'ope!" she moaned, in an exotic French accent. "Ze Pope, 'e is dead, mais oui!"

"Why should I care?" growled the panther-like expert cynic, "I sneer at popes. Their extinction is my dream, and I wouldn't lift a single muscular finger to help them."

The buxom nun gasped in dismay at such bold heresy…but at the same time she was aroused by his ferocity, and her nipples tented the thick wool of her habit suggestively. "Oooh la la, but you provoke my womanliness to a turmoil long quenched by my 'oly vows! But zis is why I come to you: ze killer, 'e is imbued with the sacredness of an 'undred Popes! Ze Mother Church is riven between zose who would like to azzign him to a quiet little diocese someplace nice, like Canada, and zose who would like to elevate him to Supreme Pope…zey would make of him…ze Mega-Pope!"

"Mega-Pope? What madness is this?" barked JZ. "And who sent you here?"

"I am Sister Marie Le Gros Tetons of ze 'Oly Order of ze Lactating Virgin, and eet ees my duty to nurture niceness in ze blessed bosom of Il Papa," whispered the nun, proudly, "und zis Mega-Pope an unkindly gross beast is. 'E must be halted. Sacre bleu!"

JZ's steely gray eyes glinted like shiny ball bearings, angry sparks flashing as he considered the implications. Sister Marie stepped back fearfully and pneumatically, like a great zeppelin drawing away from an arc of lightning, knowing that one touch would ignite the taut, pent-up ballons that bouyed her faith and consume her vows of chastity in a flaming conflagration of unstoppable heat that could only end with her crumpled against his firm muscular body, hoping to be doused with the firehose of his passion. "Oh, ze 'umanity," she groaned.

"We must seek out this Mega-Pope," he snarled decisively, "and end this threat of Mega-Sacredness. Quickly! Take me to the scene of the crime, so I can look for clues!"

"Zut alors! Zhere are manee crimes! Ze dead pope, yes, but also the hellish millinery where ze Ultimate Pope Hat is being assembled as we speak; ze shrines all across Europe and Asia Minor where ze Mega-Pope stalks and gathers precious holy relics to stick in his bodee; ze world-wide network of minions who conspire against ze goodness; why, you shall have to fly to many exotic locations, requiring many chapters of curiously linked episodes, in order to unravel zis net of malice!" murmured Sister Marie.

Undaunted, the maverick freethinker clenched his manly buttocks and swore. "Damn, but it doesn't matter. I am a man of action. I shall thrust directly at this ordained brute, and end his reign swiftly."

"But Zhay-see, 'e is protected! Ze militants in ze church have mobilized…" She paused. The tension grew.

"Yes, who? Who guards the Mega-Pope?" shouted the rude atheist.

"Ze…ze…" She tried to compose herself, but the more dickish the great atheist was, the more she felt a strange melty liquidy sensation deep in her belly … well, a little lower than her belly, in places that had hitherto only felt vague stirrings when she prayed late at night to the naked Christ writhing on the wall of her convent cell. "Ze Secret Society of ze Ninja Jesus!" she finally blurted.

"The Ninja Jesuits!" gasped the astonished pagan.

"Ya, ze Ninja Jesuits," affirmed the hesitant penitent.

"You mean the renegade order of fanatical crusaders who, in the 12th century, marched eastward from Constantinople in search of the Holy Grail, the Spear of Longinus, and the Big Splinter from the True Cross, and who took a wrong turn at Aleppo and ended up battling Wahoons, Mongols, and Tibetans as they wandered about Asia, refusing to ask directions, finally ending up in Japan, where they mastered exotic oriental skills of stealth and sharp-edged savagery? The Ninja Jesuits, expert in the art of the throwing halberd, the pointed question, the crossbow-garrote, the really long argument, and the poisoned communion wafer? The Ninja Jesuits, the most mysterious and dangerous organization of religious zealots in the world? The Ninja Jesuits, who can paralyze their opponents with their arcane and terrifying mastery of eastern art of kawai?" exposited the heroic heathen.

"Oui, ze Ninja Jesuits. You 'ave 'eard of zem, zhen?" breathed the pulchritudinous bride of Christ.

JZ Mordecai hardened as he stared at the trembling nun. He hardened in many ways, but most visibly in his expression, which turned flinty with resolve. This would be his greatest challenge. His years of training in advanced doubt, his expertise in reason and evidence, his dedication to Science…all would be tested in the days, weeks, and months to come. And Sister Marie Le Gros Tetons — yes. Beneath his penetrating gaze, the woman was incorporated into his plans, plans that were firming up, a towering logical erection of actions that would culminate in an ultimate eruption of orgiastic violence. And victory.

"Sister Marie, together we'll topple the Mega-Pope and reduce the Ninja Jesuits to limp futility. Be brave, do as I say, and…"

He whipped off his glasses.

"…have a little faith."

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Comments

#1

Posted by: Sven DiMilo Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 5:42 PM

tl;dr (yet)
I did enjoy the DanBrownesque opener though. So far.

#2

Posted by: susan.cogan Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 5:43 PM

This is very close to 1000% better than anything Dan Brown has barfed up. If he were smart, he'd be shaking in his shoes.

#3

Posted by: Glen Davidson Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 5:44 PM

I'm on the edge of my seat, thinking "How will it all end?"

Glen Davidson

#4

Posted by: PZ Myers Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 5:48 PM

I told you how it would end: "in an ultimate eruption of orgiastic violence. And victory." By way of a series of chapters that take us all over the world in a weakly interlinked series of adventures.

Jeez. I've given you guys everything, all you need to do is pile up a bunch of words to flesh out the plot.

#5

Posted by: Sven DiMilo Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 5:51 PM

Ah, and now the Mary Sue...excellent.

#6

Posted by: Inky Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 5:52 PM

Thank you, PZ, for making my poor squinty Asian eyes bug out from the nearly impossible task of holding in coffee geysers while I try to choke down my laughter.

...

you know, you could be the next Danielle Steele, but for geeks. Just think about it. Swarms of scientists sneakily reading your steamy yet skeptical pages while vigorously engaging in repetitive actions such as

pipetting.

#7

Posted by: Sven DiMilo Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 5:53 PM

wait, the thoughts should be in italics

#8

Posted by: Legion Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 5:54 PM

"Zhay-see, you are my onlee 'ope!"

Ha! Very Star Warsesque. I like it.

#9

Posted by: Hairhead Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 5:54 PM

Colonel Richard Tumescent tugged the thick leather of his manly Sam Browne belt back over his belly, his treacherous belly, which had, at his forty-sixth year suddenly expanded, lo! Like unto his penis when confronted with a hundred virgins. He needed the belt higher to trot up the long flight of steps up into the basilica, and even then, the crusty serge of his pants rode up in his crotch, annoying him mightily.

It was no surprise, then, that when the door opened to his peremptory knock, he flung it back, breaking the nose of the elderly novitiate behind.

“Agh! By dose!”, the old man squealed.

“Close the door behind me,” snapped Dick T (as he thought of himself) “and take me to crime scene.” Only a Canadian mounted policeman, he knew, would have the objectivity to evaluate the clues and identify the murderer, without regard to race, creed, or social status.

(Okay, next up!)

#10

Posted by: bunny "le meurtrier" Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 5:54 PM

Dammit, there goes my Friday night.

#11

Posted by: Blake Stacey Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 5:55 PM

Dammit, just spilled my rum and Coke Zero on my manuscript; the first few pages are ruined. Let's just pick up on p. 421, shall we?

The masked and sable-robed figure loomed over JZ, blocking out an assassin-shaped region of the midsummer night sky. "Give it up, my friend. Your charming little escapades in exotic corners of the world have been a most amusing distraction from the affairs of the Magisterium, but like all amusements, their appeal wanes with excessive exposure. This charming villa is being surrounded as we speak. You have paid the price for your lack of vision. Those whom you thought your allies have betrayed you; your travelling companions are under lock and key in the bottommost cellar of the Chateau d'Esperance. And Marie, your dear Marie. . . will soon discover the joy of Faith reaffirmed after her agonies of doubt."

JZ scratched his beard. "Exactly as planned."


#12

Posted by: Stephen Wells Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 5:55 PM

This makes my erotic gothic novel, The Castle of Libido, pale in comparison.

#13

Posted by: david.utidjian Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 5:55 PM

Awesome PZ. I may just renew my Kindle subscription to Pharyngula.

#14

Posted by: Rev. BigDumbChimp Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 5:56 PM

JZ huh?


He's got 99 problems but a pope ain't one.

#15

Posted by: Rawnaeris Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 6:00 PM

This is amazing. I look forward to new installments.

#16

Posted by: Silič O'Nopolitanopoulos, Färschdbischuf Beesknees aus Ulm und Klein Elguth, Elector Pharynguline. Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 6:00 PM

Recently elevated Pope August III hurtled through the art-splattered halls of the Vatican, oblivious to the priceless beauty surrounding him
Do you have Geoff Pullum working on this thing? Lovely anarthrousocity.
#17

Posted by: 'Tis Himself, Quel Dommage Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 6:00 PM

Why are there vertical lines all through your opus minimus?

#18

Posted by: David Marjanović Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 6:00 PM

I'm very sorry. It's difficult to write a chapter of a novel while rolling on the floor and laughing my unusually muscular, painfully fat-free ass off.

However, I don't think I'm needed. Comment 11 introduces a Xanatos Gambit. I highly recommend pursuing this course of action further.

#19

Posted by: lhikanliveson Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 6:02 PM

""Ze Secret Society of ze Ninja Jesus!" she finally blurted."

And I was unable to stop laughing for the rest of the story.

#20

Posted by: Silič O'Nopolitanopoulos, Färschdbischuf Beesknees aus Ulm und Klein Elguth, Elector Pharynguline. Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 6:02 PM

my unusually muscular, painfully fat-free a[rse]
Are you already auditioning for the dramatisation?
#21

Posted by: reckoner Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 6:03 PM

Pretty awesome!

I could become a closet ready of this. …It’s almost like a highly entertaining and funny romance novel

#22

Posted by: Caine, ghetto féministe Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 6:04 PM

Hahahaha, I love it, especially the Ninja Jesuits. Good touch.

*Paging NigelTheBold, Paging NigelTheBold, your writing skills are required*

#23

Posted by: lhikanliveson Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 6:06 PM

I just had a thought.

Instead of Ninja Jesuits, why not simply Ninjesuits?

#24

Posted by: Blake Stacey Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 6:07 PM

"So, how does a smart fellow like you end up freezing organs for transport by the Vatican's secret agents?"

Elie^H^H^H^HEbenezer leaned his whiplike body, thinned by years of caloric-restriction diets, over the slowly boiling vat of liquid nitrogen. He giggled. "I just like freezing things," he said. "You know, when you get down to it, parents who don't sign up to have their children frozen are really committing child abuse."

"You mean, they should be contracting to have their children cryogenically preserved in case they die, so they can be revived and repaired when medicine has advanced?"

"Oh, sure," he giggled again. "Reviving them is good, too."


#25

Posted by: Sven DiMilo Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 6:08 PM

well, still tl.
and, frankly, TMI.
But pretty funny.

oh and I know you already solicited chapters, and I'm looking forward to nigel's expecially, but you should also consider this revision:

By way of a series of chapters that take us all over the world in a weakly weekly, interlinked, series of adventures.
#26

Posted by: Birger Johansson Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 6:12 PM

Can you cram in Max von Sydow in a role as menacing assassin somewhere? The role of chief papal exorcist should go to Anthony Hopkins, doing his thing as mentally unhinged murderer.

#27

Posted by: Caine, ghetto féministe Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 6:16 PM

Birger, this is still in the book stage, not ready for movie casting as yet.

#28

Posted by: Cuttlefish, OM, CR Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 6:17 PM

I know my limitations; I shall not be contributing a chapter. But I offer, to those better pulp-fiction writers than I, an observation:

Holy Mt. Athos, on a peninsula in the northern Aegean Sea, is both in Greece and of its own political order (the Autonomous Monastic State of the Holy Mountain--I'm not making this up). The mountain is stuffed to the gills with monasteries--some 20 Eastern Orthodox monasteries--and while the pope is a nobody to them, these monks do relics like nobody's business. (One monastery boasts the world's largest fragment of the true cross, which includes a nail hole. The fragment is gilt and jewel-encrusted. Naturally.)

So, there is clearly motivation for Our Hero to visit Mt. Athos.

But.

Adding to the tension, all of Mt. Athos is off-limits to women. Even touring boats must keep a specified distance off the coast if they carry female passengers. Hell, even female livestock are verboten.

So.

Sister Marie Le Gros Tetons must assume the improbable identity of a young boy in order to assist Our Hero in his acts of derring-do.

And, naturally, in the film version this involves, at the end of the chapter, la libération des seins. In slow motion, soft focus.

On a boat.

#29

Posted by: JeffreyD Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 6:18 PM

Toss in a vampire or two; a pair of cute, orphan moppets (one of each sex); a couple of zombies; a love interest (a cold as ice assassin who is a softy inside); and a squid and you might have something there.

#30

Posted by: Brain Hertz Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 6:18 PM

Recently elevated Pope August III....

Weak. Better name: Pope John Paul George Ringo II.

(no, not original...)

#31

Posted by: David Marjanović Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 6:21 PM

Are you already auditioning for the dramatisation?

For that I'd have to stop rolling on the floor, wouldn't I?

the slowly boiling vat of liquid nitrogen

Ooh. Boiling nitrogen. I love boiling nitrogen.

Almost as much as chlorine trifluoride. I insist on a scene like the one at the end of Conan the Barbarian, where Conan rides away while the temple burns behind him... and by "the temple", I mean the actual styrofoam massive rock walls of the temple. :-9

#32

Posted by: Blake Stacey Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 6:22 PM

Also:

in search of the Holy Grail, the Spear of Longinus,

Mad props for using the correct translation. :-)

#33

Posted by: JeffreyD Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 6:23 PM

Toss in a vampire or two; a pair of cute, orphan moppets (one of each sex); a couple of zombies; a love interest (a cold as ice assassin who is a softy inside); and a squid and you might have something there.

#34

Posted by: Caine, ghetto féministe Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 6:25 PM

JeffreyD:

a love interest (a cold as ice assassin who is a softy inside)

Not overly squishy, mind. More female assassins are definitely needed. One of them should be wearing a silver band with nihil privatus embossed on it*.

*Has nothing at all to do with my ring which matches that description.

#35

Posted by: David Marjanović Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 6:29 PM

Hell, even female livestock are verboten.

Only chickens are allowed (for their eggs).

la libération des seins

<shrieking laughter>

Rolling on the floor for a bit longer.

Recently elevated Pope August III....

Weak. Better name: Pope John Paul George Ringo II.

August Berkshire the Atheist.

#36

Posted by: Forbidden Snowflake Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 6:29 PM

Needs more cock.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
...but enough about me.

#37

Posted by: Nerd of Redhead, OM Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 6:32 PM

Dang, I knew there was a reason I stayed with grand opera.

*now, how do I work in beer swilling singing velociraptors and mildly psychotic penguins???*

#38

Posted by: Forbidden Snowflake Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 6:33 PM

'e is imbued with the sacredness of an 'undred Popes! …zey would make of him…ze Mega-Pope!"
If he has the sacredness of a hundred Popes, wouldn't that make him 0.1 kiloPope, or 0.0001 MegaPope?
#39

Posted by: DiscoveredJoys Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 6:36 PM

A couple of chapters and I've already guessed the plot - God did it (in the Library at Downe House with a bucket of barnacles).

#40

Posted by: Caine, ghetto féministe Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 6:37 PM

The All Powerful Radiant Homeopathic Pope!

#41

Posted by: Brownian, Most Vicious & Petty of Pharyngulites Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 6:37 PM

If he has the sacredness of a hundred Popes, wouldn't that make him 0.1 kiloPope, or 0.0001 MegaPope?

1 hectopope. But I think you're forgetting something, Nerd:

What's 100 × 0?

#42

Posted by: tielserrath Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 6:46 PM

Far away, in the sitting room of a 17th century half-timbered thatched cottage, Jane Millefeuille sat sipping a glass of Penfold's Bin 57 shiraz and perusing the latest edition of the Oxford Journal of Roman History. It was peaceful, the silence that lay over the house, nay the small cotswold village that was its environs, broken only by the purring of several cats. and the ringing of a phone.

Blast Jane thought, as she reached for the handset, upsetting a large ginger cat from the arm of her chair as she did so, I was hoping to edit the proofs of my new book The Roman Caesars and the Secret Vatican Army tonight.

She looked at the tiny screen and flipped open the phone. 'JZ! Good to hear from you! It's been--"

'Grab your kit,' JZ said urgently, an unexpected hoarseness stirring tendrils of alarm in her older -- but still remarkably attractive, Helen-Mirren-style -- breasts. 'There's a first-class seat booked for you out of Heathrow in three hours.'

'Wait, what?'

'I need you here, in Rome. Don't let me down, Jane. Not this time.'

Strangely, she thought she could hear someone else with him. Low, gasping breaths, with the occasional sob. And was that the tinkle of rosary beads?'

'JZ--'

''I've got to go, Jane. Terminal two, in three hours. Be there.' He hung up.

Jane stared at the handset again, then tucked it into the pocket of her black jeans, jeans that encased legs that were as slim and shapely as they had been in her twenties when she and JZ had first met on a dig in Pompeii. Back then he'd been a gangly postgrad, his awkwardness strangely attractive. They'd got talking when she offered him some antiseptic and elastoplast after his third fall into one of the trenches, and that evening they had bumped into each other at the hostel (well, he'd nearly knocked her down a flight of stairs, actually) and in apology he'd offered her a glass of wine (cheap, corked, but that hadn't seemed to matter) and they'd sat outside, watching the last rays of sun glow on Vesuvuis, and discussing the Year of the four Caesars.

By the time the gilded memories evapoated she had packed and was hurrying down the path to her dark green sports car. Mrs Hunniford would feed tha e cats, nad -- she paused, her hand on the driver's door -- there was really little else to hold her here. Pushing her long dark hair back over one shoulder, she slid into the driver's seat and started the engine.

#43

Posted by: skohayes Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 6:57 PM

If he has the sacredness of a hundred Popes, wouldn't that make him 0.1 kiloPope, or 0.0001 MegaPope?

I love scientists.

#44

Posted by: JeffreyD Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 6:58 PM

Caine, milady - I DID have you in mind for the part. Oh, and we can replace the cute moppets with a couple of boggling rats...who infiltrate through the vents...unlock doors...carry lasers...or little scythes...

(What? Of yes, Nurse...I will take my meds now.)

#45

Posted by: Caine, ghetto féministe Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 7:01 PM

JeffreyD:

Oh, and we can replace the cute moppets with a couple of boggling rats...who infiltrate through the vents...unlock doors...carry lasers...or little scythes...

Oh, I can't believe I didn't think of the boys, they are artful little buggers, and definitely smarter than the inhabitants of the vatican, various monasteries, etc.

#46

Posted by: tielserrath Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 7:05 PM

'Oo is zis Jane?' asked sister Marie hesitantly.

JZ Mordecai stared at her. For a few seconds he'd been walking, hand in hand, down the streets of Pompeii, looking into Jane's soft hazel eyes and explaining the meaning of the word pyroclastic.

'Jane? Dr Jane Millefeuille. I think we need an expert on the Roman architecture that underpins the Vatican. She's the best.' That last phrase echoed uncomfortably in his mind as he looked down at the pale smooth orbs that were Sister Marie's rosary beads. You're the best. There was only one woman he'd ever said that to, only one woman in a career filled with shapely lecturers and undergraduates. His whole life had been brief moments of joy separated by long years of waiting for her to walk back into it.

However...he rested a reassuring hand on Sister Marie's trembling shoulder.

'You look a little overset, sister. Come and sit down -- no, on the bed, here, you can lie down, if you like -- I'll find you something medicinal. You need something warm...I mean a stiff...erm, would you like a drink?'

#47

Posted by: llewelly Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 7:06 PM

PZ:


His pope hat fell off with a clatter, revealing not a virile and powerful servant of God, but a tired, feeble old man, his face lined with care ...

Stop right there. "lined with care"? Hardly. Grooved with greed. Riven with avarice. Cayoned with callousness. But not "lined with care".

#48

Posted by: coughlanbrianm Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 7:10 PM

That was. Inconceivable.

#49

Posted by: Forbidden Snowflake Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 7:11 PM

tielserrah, that was excellent.

Myself am trying to work out what Sister Marie's deep dark secret, which will surface around 3/4 of the plot, will turn out to be.
I'm thinking either addiction or lovechild. The latter preferably papal.

#50

Posted by: Forbidden Snowflake Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 7:13 PM

...and I'm sorry I misspelled you even while complimenting you.

#51

Posted by: https://me.yahoo.com/a/xaStVywarZ6R9nrlSjv4D8_6GGA0PWmf#765c4 Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 7:17 PM

Sister Marie's deep dark secret...I'm thinking either addiction or lovechild. The latter preferably papal

The atheist hero who was shuffled away and forced onto some parishioners, who, for fear of eternal damnation for the crime of disobeying the vicar of Christ on earth, dutifully raised the child as their own.

Yeah, I'm not very good at this. tielserrah and others are much, much better.
Squigit

#52

Posted by: https://me.yahoo.com/a/xaStVywarZ6R9nrlSjv4D8_6GGA0PWmf#765c4 Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 7:23 PM

*sigh* Clarification to my #51:
atheist hero=Sister Marie's papal love child
Squigit

P.S. I got an error message on the last one, so here's to hoping they both go through. And any apologies for double posts. *sigh*

#53

Posted by: Beatrice, anormalement indécente Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 7:25 PM

I'm thinking either addiction or lovechild. The latter preferably papal.
She is a papal lovechild, obviously. I imagine her swearing to take back her father's right hand thumb from the killer no matter what it takes.
#54

Posted by: Timberwoof Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 7:28 PM

"and a squid"

Does he get to ride a motorcycle with tires that magically sprout knobbies on dirt terrain like Tom Cruise's Triumph Speed Triple 955?

#55

Posted by: nigelTheBold, Minister of Spankings Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 7:28 PM

beatrice,

She is a papal lovechild, obviously. I imagine her swearing to take back her father's right hand thumb from the killer no matter what it takes.

Precisely. Which makes her a relic, as well. And the antagonist definitely wants a young heart, not an aging, feeble heart.

#56

Posted by: Carlie of the lacy, gently wafting adjectives Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 7:37 PM

Sister Marie Le Gros Tetons is an even better name than Nicolae Carpathia.

#57

Posted by: Beatrice, anormalement indécente Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 7:38 PM

nigelTheBold, Captain Smug, OM:

Precisely. Which makes her a relic, as well. And the antagonist definitely wants a young heart, not an aging, feeble heart.

Oh, yes. She's the final goal. Imagine those 5 second JZ will feel totally guilty for delivering her right into the killer's hands. But it's not just a mistake on his part. It was all part of his plan. He knew those blue eyes looked familiar. It just took him some time to realize where he had seen them before. He had some unfinished business with that particular pope, but then the bastard had to go and get himself killed.

#58

Posted by: Sven DiMilo Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 7:40 PM

Vatican astronomer, homeopathy apologist, and crafty secret master ninja Msgr. Jack “Kwack” Quok fingered his greasy rosary as he crouched in wait behind the fiberglass Triceratops, barely able to contain his holy fervor. The well-mumbled words and subconsciously caressed round, smooth, warm, gently fingered beads helped to ground him in the moment.
All his life he had studied and trained and self-flagellated and remained pure and chaste for this day, this holy, holy day, when he—imagine!—would become the Instrument of the Holy Mother Church, chosen to strike a mighty blow for his Savior and Pontiff against evil, apostasy, Satan, sacrilege, crackerslaughter, blasphemy, Lutherans, and/or Big Pharma (he forgot, exactly).
And to think! the intricately coded message had come from the Holy Father himself! One of them, anyway; it was getting hard to keep track anymore what with all the mysterious murder/mutilations of Popes recently and all. Quok was pretty sure it had been that weirdo from Milan, Innocenzo Fabio I, who had lasted about four days and spent most of it trying on shoes, and then been found in the papal palace's scarpa closet with a penknife in his back and missing his left patella, but still.
What was that sound?
The ninja priest chanced one more glance at the smirking photograph of his target he had superglued to the back of his left ninjaglove. An unpleasant-looking American atheist that the Holy Vicar of Christ—one of them, anyway—wanted clipped: all he knew and all he wanted to know. He stretched his hand (registered as a holy weapon) once more and took a firm grip on the shagreen handle of his ninjatō.
Those were definitely footsteps.
And now voices could be heard approaching the Hall of Fake Dinosaurs where he waited patiently with his bait, like a green heron fishing with a piece of bread, except he, Quok, was, like Saint Peter, first in the recently much longer line of Bishops of Rome, a fisher not of fish but of men! OK, one man, just one…
and here he comes
As two men entered the darkened hall, Quok instantly recognized his target and set the trap. He tossed his bait in a high arc and it landed with a loud 'plop!' in the exact center of the large room and a straight shot from the ceratopsid behind which he was coiled, ready to spring like a deadly diluted sugar pill. Quok held his breath and prayed for quickness and accuracy.
"What the hell is that, JZ?"
"It...it looks like a...Dosidicus gigas, Dick...what the frack?"
Now!
Msgr. Quok screamed his kiai with pious ferocity and attacked!

#59

Posted by: jmaline Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 7:42 PM

My birthday is August 3 (um, III). Am I pope yet?

#60

Posted by: hyperdeath Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 7:43 PM

JZ woke up on a hard stone floor. He opened his Tetraammine diaqua copper(II) blue eyes to reveal four solid walls. The only entrance was a thick metal door, locked from the outside. He was a prisoner of The Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith.

After several hours of eerie silence, he heard footsteps approaching and the jangle of keys. A young priest, with sandy brown hair, and a swastika tattooed on his forehead entered the cell. "You are vanted by ze Megapope" said the priest. "He vishes to interrogate you personally".

JZ took his chance. He balled his rugged masculine hand into a tungsten like fist, and slammed it with all his might into the priest's left kidney. The priest winced with pain, as his interlobular arteries started to haemorrhage into the surrounding cortex. The priest reached for his gun, but JZ was too quick for him, and grabbed the gun for himself.

A squadron of Vatican Stormtroopers charged down the corridor, having heard the commotion. They drew their guns, and prepared to fire.

AVE MARIA MOTHERFUCKERS!!!!

shouted JZ, before unleashing a hailstorm of lead. Before the Stormtroopers has time to react, the high-velocity metal of JZ's rationality had torn through the squishy brain tissue of the their faith. "That's what I think of your sophisticated theology", remarked JZ, whilst removing a skull fragment from his Flying Spaghetti Monster t-shirt.

#61

Posted by: tielserrath Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 7:43 PM

Deep below the vatican:

'But --' Monsignor Ignatius gasped, 'that would be impossible! In Latin America, perhaps, or Poland. But everywhere else? We simply do not have the numbers.'

The pope lifted him like an unwanted puppy and dragged him to the window, where a narrow balcony hung over the vast, cavernous space that had been hewn from solid rock by generations of Roman slaves.

'See what I have wrought?' he hissed into the palpitating priest's ear.

Ignatius gasped. Below, rank on rank, disappearing into the shadowed darkness, were thousands of shambling figures. They moaned, they wailed, and as they caught sight of movement above them, they raised their arms and roared.

Ignatius sank into a quivering heap on the cold stone floor, staring up at his superior in naked horror. 'Zombies? My lord, you can't--'

'Oh, but I can. And not zombies, dear Ignatius. Resurrectionata. Much more apt, do you not think? And you shall add to their number.'

Ignatius screamed as the teriffying visage descended.

#62

Posted by: Hairhead Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 7:45 PM

The gobbets of bone and bone had blasted a new triptych across the baroque walls, whose crenelations, ornate pediments, and bas-reliefs of the tortures of the saints now dripped with papal ichor. Tumescent surveyed the scene with the detachment common to Mounties who had served their initial two years in remote mining and logging communities, whose male denizens, through the twin media of alcohol and lust, descended into primate brawls of singularly bloody brutality every Friday, Saturday, and Wednesday (Wednesday being Hump Day). Warily, he slid his hand into his shorts and wet his index finger on his rectum; the finger, returned, and wiped a nearly invisible smear across his upper lip, the scent of excrement masking the excessive cologne which the old Pope had been accustomed to wearing.

Hmmm, Richard thought, there seems to be something missing – these body parts are scattered, yet with my police training, and my mastery of Kim’s game while the Boy Scouts, I sense that this welter of body parts does not add up to the whole thing, as it were. Dick shuffled toward and a crunching noise under his left foot focused his attention. He lifted the shoe. Underneath were fragments of a papal earring, an emerald, formerly a lustrous green, now only bitter grasslike shards. Hold on! He thought, emerald shouldn’t shatter like that! His knees cracking, he bent down to examine the jeweled detritus. Surely -- there it was! Under the green shards, which he was sure now were shards of glass, were the remains of what looked like tiny GPS transmitter.

Dick Tumescent breathed through his Dirty Sanchez and hardly noticed the shadow behind him.

#63

Posted by: Caine, ghetto féministe Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 7:45 PM

Sven:

Vatican astronomer, homeopathy apologist, and crafty secret master ninja Msgr. Jack “Kwack” Quok
crackerslaughter,
ready to spring like a deadly diluted sugar pill.

:falls over laughing:

#64

Posted by: Standard Curve Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 7:53 PM

I told you how it would end: "in an ultimate eruption of orgiastic violence. And victory."

Why can't it end in a "Lesbian Spank Inferno?"

#65

Posted by: tielserrath Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 7:58 PM

'What kept you?' Jane demanded as JZ staggered into the guard hall. She nudged a prone figure with her toe. 'I locked the other five guards in the safe, but this one keeps wailing about something called resurrectionata on the streets. Any idea what the fuck he's on about?'

JZ could only stare at her. She'd bound her long, dark hair in a tight bun at the nape of her pale neck, and she was clad in her usual skin-tight black jeans and black lycra top. a utility belt encircled her slim waist, carrying spare clips, lockpicking instruments, vibration grenades and a copy of God is not Great.

'I'm sorry I wasn't there. At the airport. I mean. To meet you. Sorry.' Why did she always do this to him?

'Apologise later,' she snapped, spinning round and drop-kicking a startled priest who'd emerged from a doorway, and administering the coup de grace with a paperback book to the back of his neck, in a style that brought a remembered warmth to JZ's loins. 'Now come on! We have to get out of here!'

#66

Posted by: jgulner Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 7:59 PM

"Sister Marie, together we'll topple the Mega-Pope and reduce the Ninja Jesuits to limp futility. Be brave, do as I say, and…"

He whipped off his glasses.

"…have a little faith."


YEEEEAAAAAAAAHH!!!
#67

Posted by: howard.peirce Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 8:05 PM

Attributive noun phrase Proper Name burst into the ornate, purple prose when he suddenly stopped short, transfixed by the orgiastic scene of violence against good taste which appeared before him.

"Gott im Himmel!*," he shouted through clenched teeth. "It's like something out of an easily parodied popular prose style!"

But this fateful ejaculation would prove to be the last words he ever spoke, for at that very moment an anonymous lurker stepped from the shadows and hung an enormous lampshade on him.


* "God in Heaven," a common blasphemy in the German language.

#68

Posted by: Squidocto Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 8:09 PM

The ice-sheet growled beneath JZ's feet. He surveyed what remained of the science station -- broken glass, fragments of metal, and the frozen, bloody remains of the scientists who had a week before eagerly tweeted him: "@JZMordecai: get your fabulous ass down here to Antarctica now. Clue in ice. Nobel-level shit." Whatever they had found, it was gone. But there was no doubt it was another relic, another blessticized artifact now in the supernaturally sacred grasp of the Mega Pope.

Turning to leave -- no burial was necessary, the godless science slaves now being nothing but lifeless flesh, food for the throngs of homosexual penguins -- something caught JZ's eye. A notebook. Still intact. Trapped under a frozen-baby TV-dinner, it must have escaped the gaze of the Holiest See that has ever seen when he stormed through the camp. Hesitantly, JZ flipped through the pages, pausing occasionally to admire his pecs. These were the notes of the discovery. As realization crept in to his fertile, critical yet open mind... goosebumps. They had found, encased in the glacier -- ice-trapped-air and carbon dated to precisely 6000 years ago -- a toenail clipping. A toenail clipping fifteen feet across.

#69

Posted by: Evolouie Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 8:13 PM

Oh and this is a must for the Movie;

Sister Marie Le Gros Tetons

Played by non other than, wait for it

wait for it.

The very sexy Mary-Louise Parker

Hit movie right there

#70

Posted by: https://www.google.com/accounts/o8/id?id=AItOawnjTI8WixGBmDE1uvi3iqJMQwqGzrc1IWo Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 8:17 PM

If Pope August III can really get inside Cellini's salt cellar, he must be a rather minor figure--6 or 7 inches tall, I reckon.

#71

Posted by: tielserrath Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 8:25 PM

'This isn't pizza!'

Paolo Pergolesi tried to keep his face expresionless as the american pointed a quivering finger at the plate. 'I'm sorry, sir?'

'Where's the tomato sauce? Where's--'

'It is pizza blanco, sir. Blanco means white. Not red. The pizza--'

'Goddammit, are you people so stupid that you can't make pizza?'

get me out of this, Paolo thought silently. One more like t6his and I swear--

At the far side of the quare a woman started screaming hysterically.

"what the hell is wrong with that bitch,' the american growled.

'Ignore it, dear,' his wife patted his arm. 'they're Italians. They scream all the time.'

Several people were screaming now. Paolo jumped lightly onto a chair and peered over the heads of the crowd, a crowd, he noted, that was starting to flow rapidly away from the direction of the screaming.

At the opposite corner of the square, a shambling, ragged group of figures moved slowly forward. One old man stumbled, and the figures were on him in an istant, biting and tearing. The crowd were in outright panic now, pushing and struggling. He looked down at the americans.

'I think you should forget the pizza. Go. Go now.' as he spoke he became aware of a strange heat at his hip. The paperback book in his pocket, that he'd shoved there to read later, when the lunchtime rush was over, was giving out heat like a small, febrile animal. He pulled it out. The cover was warm under his hands, and the title seemed to glow. The God Deliusion [except in Italian].

All at once several things fell into place. The two old priests, sitting at a table yesterday, mumbling about armies and invasion. He'd briefly wondered if the Vatican had a WoW team; now he knew better. Zombies, in a piazza, on a sunny Wednesday afternoon. Zombies loose in Rome. And himself - invalided out of the army at twenty-seven, despite his vast counterterrorism, hand-to-hand fighting, computer hacking and firearms experience.

Paolo leapt off the chair and raced toward the vatican.

#72

Posted by: Lyn M: Just Lyn M. Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 8:33 PM

@ tielserrath -- Beat me on the zombies! Arrggh.


JZ narrowed his remarkable blue eyes to bring the shadowed form before him into focus. Yes, that was a perfectly cut Armani suit on the figure that moved in a strangely rocking gait towards him. And an Hermes tie.
“Jaaaay Zeeeed”, the form spoke, a low gutteral sound, “I see you found my lair.”
“Zee,” the quick-witted athiest automatically corrected while his highly trained mind put the facts together. Handmade shoes, ostrich skin briefcase, impeccably cut, if somewhat slimy, hair ... yes, he had found the centre of the maniacal tangle of Swiss banks, gold futures trading laid off against blood diamonds and leveraged buyouts of self-owned Lichtenstein trust companies.
“The zombie accountant of the vatican,” the form stepped closer, now fully visible in the light of the burning wall sconces, which were perfectly colour-coordinated with the central chandelier, not lit at that moment.
“I knew there was someone like you in the middle of this tangle of finances designed to thwart the most incisive financial enquiry since the recent double checking of all British MPs’ expense accounts.” JZ did not flinch from the sight of a green face, red eyes and a nose that had not been broken so much as smooshed. His chiseled features showed no fear, just the steady iron will that was backed by his magnificent brain.
“And I knew YOU must know,” the zombie threw his gold-cornered briefcase at JZ with a powerful side arm motion.
Like a panther, JZ leapt at the zombie, causing the briefcase to miss him. But the zombie was inhumanly fast and slipped the grasp of the well-muscled atheist.
“Of course I am at the centre of the web of finances that feeds a torrent of gold to the vatican and evermore shall be so. I know where all the bodies were buried!” The zombie stood like a pillar of meat on a steel skewer, his Armani perfectly matched to his overcoat, splayed on a leather sofa behind him.
“You mean ...”
“Yes, JZ, yes. All the vatican accountants, even down to the bookkeepers are zombies. But as we scorn the trivial movie representations of us as sartorially impaired lurching idiots, no one has ever noticed!” Then the zombie’s red eyes glowed a little more, “Except you. A damned atheist.”
“I am not blinded by the worship you demand of lesser beings,” JZ snapped, “And there are a legion of others close following me. More then you ever dreamed of.”
The zombie stood now, as if paralyzed, “Not ...”
“Yes.”
In the long silence that followed JZ’s pronouncement, nothing was heard but the quiet plop as the zombie’s left ear hit the marble floor. His voice now trembling, the dread accountant said,
“Not the ... pharyngulites!”
“And a squid.”

#73

Posted by: Krystalline Apostate Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 8:33 PM

Ummm....voices don't slither, snakes do. & French people don't say "Ooh la la!" all the time.
& too many years of working for free have left me broke. ;)

#74

Posted by: Caine, ghetto féministe Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 8:38 PM

tielserrath, L'illusione di Dio. Loved the last scene with Jane & JZ.

#75

Posted by: tielserrath Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 8:44 PM

'Something's going on, Jane,' JZ said as they raced down the ornate vatican corridors.

Jane bit back her reply. Yes, master of the bloody obvious wasn't exactly the most helpful response, though it might be the most satisfying. 'What have you found out?'

'I was in the arctic, about six weeks ago. Ther was this toenail, this carbon dated...toenail. Really,' he added as she skidded to a halt and stared at him.

"Really?' She tried to inject just the right amount of I'm not entirely sceptical but you're going to have to present an awful lot of evidence for that tone into her voice.

JZ scuffed at the carpet with his toe, looked away, then back at her. 'It's good to see you. Really good, I mean.'

'Can we get back to the toenail?'

'Must we? I mean, yes. I saw the data. Fifteen foot toenail. Six thousand years old.'

'And that bears on our present situation how?'

'I don't know. Except--'

Someone came running around the corner, skidded to a stop a few feet from them. Jane shoved JZ sideways, brought her copy of God is not Great around in a threatening manner. 'Who are you?'

'Paolo. Paolo Pergolesi.'

He was remarkably good looking, in a tall, sundrenched Italian kind of way. He was also dressed as a waiter. She frowned.

'What are you going to do? Ask me if I want an espresso?'

'No--' Paolo spun, chopped a figure in robes and scarlet shoes to the ground in one coordinated move of contained violence. 'You need me. I thought I could help.'

'You can,' Jane said, smiling at him. 'Oh, you certainly can.

'Jane,' JZ straightened his glasses, can we get back to the subject at hand?'

'Certainly.' she motioned Paolo to join them. 'JZ here was telling us about a giant six-thousand-year-old toenail.'

JZ sighed. Jane smiled more widely. He never seemed to realise quite how cute he was when he thought no one believed him.

#76

Posted by: Guy M Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 8:45 PM

hyperdeath @60
couldn't possibly allow tripe like that to get published!!
JZ has GREY eyes, can't you read?

#77

Posted by: Lyn M: Just Lyn M. Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 8:48 PM

*cleans screen of coffee droplets*

Now this is what I call a THREAD!

Awesome tielsarrath, squidocto

#78

Posted by: Caine, ghetto féministe Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 8:52 PM

tielserrath:

'What are you going to do? Ask me if I want an espresso?'

I'm rather in love with Jane.

#79

Posted by: Samantha Vimes Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 8:54 PM

Ow! My Eye of Argon.

#80

Posted by: tielserrath Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 8:55 PM

'There's something else I forgot to tell you.' JZ looked even more embarassed now.

'Oh yes?' Jane watched Paolo's lithe form as he sprinted down the corridor ahead of them, vaulted a chair, did a quick forward roll across a doorway and came to his feet. 'What?'

Paolo motioned to them to hurry up.

'I cloned myself.'

It took a few seconds for what he said to sink in. 'Wait, what?'

'I wish you wouldn't talk like that. It makes you sound like someone on an internet forum.'

'Back up. You cloned yourself?'

'Yes. It was an experiment --'

'Obviously.'

'I wanted to see how many disciplines I could succeed in. There's one of me in physics, one in organic chemistry, there's a rather odd one in biology - he has this obsession with squid - and one in finance.'

'Finance?'

'The vatican bank.'

"JZ,' she pulled him towards her, their lips meeting for a brief moment, 'This is why I...'

He leaned back, looked deep into her eyes. 'Why you...?'

"Come on!' Paiolo yelled.

Jane sighed regretfully. 'JZ, we've got to go. We've got a planet to save.'

#81

Posted by: CompulsoryAccount7746 Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 8:59 PM

JZ, struck from behind, fell into the comforting void of oblivion. ... Warmth. It seemed it'd been so long since he'd felt anything in that state. He relished the novelty. Soon though the warmth gave way to the stings of a thousand pricks. He savored the irony. Then harsh flourescent light flooded his retinas. Immobile - no, more than that - frozen. With great effort, craned his head to study himself. His body was half buried in ice cubes, his limbs completely so, but the abdomen protruded enough to reveal several large scars.
"Ah, finally awake! After you destroyed my facility, I needed a new vessel to house the relics while I prepare myself. To my rapturous surprise, you were an excellent match."
---
Some chapters later...
---
The woman gasps, nearly choking on her spaghetti. "It was one thing when the serial killer was blessed. But an atheist!? If news of this gets out, a quarter of the planet's heads will explode. I can't allow that to happen. Because... then they would go to... erm, God is in my head telling me that... You just have to die now!" She raises her fork and lunges, with a vacant gleam in ger eyes.

#82

Posted by: CompulsoryAccount7746 Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 9:01 PM

o.0 How did my tense change between chapters?
Dun-dun-dun!

#83

Posted by: Caine, ghetto féministe Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 9:03 PM

Somewhere, there needs to be a character like Lu-Tze in Thief of Time. A little old (800 years old) sweeper (not a monk, just looks like one), who reminds people of Rule one*.

*Rule One states "Do not act incautiously when confronting a little bald wrinkly smiling man".

#84

Posted by: David Marjanović Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 9:07 PM

Tetraammine diaqua copper(II) blue eyes

I thought steely gray?

a swastika tattooed on his forehead

Not logical.

God is not Great

The spelling on the cover is:

god
Is Not
GREAT

a common blasphemy in the German language

There are no common blasphemies in the German language.

Blasphemy as a means of cursing went out of fashion many decades ago. Now it's all "shit" and "ass".

pizza blanco

How about bianca?

Lichtenstein

Liechtenstein.

the dread accountant

:-D

#85

Posted by: tielserrath Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 9:12 PM

As the zombie accountant collapsed under the assault of several hundred flying squid, JZ(Mk 3.1) stepped around the convulsing mass and helped JZ(Mk 2.6) to his feet.

'You OK?'

'Fine.' JZ(Mk 2.6) staggered a little as the room revolved around him.

'Just take a minute. You need to know what's going on, anyway. The squidsignal has gone up. General JZ has authorised the release of all JZ clones, and the're boarding planes for Rome right now. Our job is to hook up with the ones already here, and hold the fort until the rest arrive.'

JZ(Mk3.1) had a British accent. JZ(Mk2.6) frowned, then decided he didn't really want to know why. Everything seemed to be moving very fast all of a sudden, including the speed with which the walls were revolving.

'I'm the finance JZ,' JZ(Mk3.1) added. 'Tell you something, I'm just grateful to heve got out of Switzerland. If I'd got given one more bloody cuckoo clock by a catholic I would have blown my cover. Feeling better?'

JZ(Mk2.6) nodded.

'Then lets get out of here.'

#86

Posted by: David Marjanović Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 9:16 PM

There absolutely has to be an Eye of Argon reference.

Rule One states "Do not act incautiously when confronting a little bald wrinkly smiling man".

Yoda does not smile.

And, frankly, caution won't help you against his lightsaber.

#87

Posted by: MrFire Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 9:17 PM

Myself am trying to work out what Sister Marie's deep dark secret, which will surface around 3/4 of the plot, will turn out to be.

PZ gave it away in his prologue, I like to think.

Sister Marie's impeccable French accent breaks at one point:

"...und zis Mega-Pope an unkindly gross beast is."

I contend that she is a Nazi fembot double agent with an ulterior motive: to kidnap Pope Benedict XVI, and bring him back through time to 1942, where he will be made to correct proofs for his then-seminal essay, "Why I Love Being In The Hitler-Jugend (But Will Emphatically Deny That In Sixty Years' Time)"

#88

Posted by: Phalacrocorax, not a particularly smart avian Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 9:18 PM

You know, if you really want to write a book collaboratively, you should start a wiki.

#89

Posted by: tielserrath Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 9:25 PM

Jane and JZ hid in a cupboard while a platoon of ninja jesuits hurtled past. It was dark. And warm. and there was only room for two people if they stood very close together.

All these, JZ concluded, were a good thing.

'So,' Jane ran a slow finger down the front of JZ's shirt, 'There's more than one of you.'

'Yes.'

'That wasn't a question.'

'Oh.'

'Just a statement of fact.'

'Oh.'

'And consideration of a whole...new...set...of possibilities.'

'Oh.' Where had her hand gone? Oh. There. And there. 'Jane, I never told you how much I--'

The door opened, flooding them with brilliance.

'Coast is clear,' Paolo said.

JZ tripped on the sill and sprawled face-first on the carpet.

#90

Posted by: Caine, ghetto féministe Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 9:26 PM

David:

Yoda does not smile.

And, frankly, caution won't help you against his lightsaber.

Who gives a shit about a stupid puppet? Lu-Tze would kick his puppet arse. Deja-Fu, dude.

#91

Posted by: madbull Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 9:30 PM

If you just gave Dan Brown another idea, I'm not forgiving you.

#92

Posted by: Lyn M: Just Lyn M. Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 9:34 PM

Somewhere deep beneath a mountain of squid, the dread accountant began heaving himself towards the surface. He had not breathed, except to permit uttering threats, in years. The tightly packed squid meant nothing to him. Freed at last, he stared at the highly polished full length mirror he had set into the wall best lit by the sconces and screamed, “My suit!!! My suit is covered in squid slime!!! I will never rest until this travesty is corrected. Never!”
Upset enough to lurch, he went to his closet and became so completely engrossed in picking the best tie to go with his shirt and suit monochrome scheme, that he forgot time. As a result, he never appeared in the story again, and missed two tax-filing deadlines and a capital-gains-avoidance structured roll-over. The pharyngulites had indeed destroyed his finely wrought financial empire.

#93

Posted by: Misfire Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 9:39 PM

Yes, the sounds were definitely coming from behind this door. JZ tried the widower’s key, pulled the door creakingly forward, and the two on them moved through into the cold yellow, flickering gloom. The sounds were unmistakable now: a crisp, guttural noise like newly fallen, glazed snow being broken by a line of marching soldiers. It echoed up the stone stairs, deepening in tone at every turn as if it were feeding on the darkness.

They moved down the cold stairs steadily, despite the thickening stench. The sharp taps of their feet on the stone were met with the scratching of a rat running down, probably attracted by the awful, almost sweet smell. Suddenly the sister, who had been moving down bravely, if a pace behind JZ, sucked in her breath. “Ze walls…” she whispered. Sure enough, the cold walls were moving, almost as though dripping downwards, but in the dark JZ couldn’t make out more. They moved further down towards the stench and the crunching sounds.

Around the next turn the gloom let up a bit, and the walls gave up their secret. A steady stream of maggots were marching down; because of the cold they moved with eerie slowness, as if they had all the time in the world before they feasted on whatever drew them from below. “Try zis,” the sister offered, handing JZ a clear glass bottle, the orange light striking shapes across it. “Put it in your noss.” The perfume helped. But nothing could deaden the awful sounds, crisper now, and somehow all the more unbearable.

As they turned the final corner, the scene opened before them, and they froze. Two torches on either side of the room scattered light on the tremendous, corpulent white body in front of them. The Megapope must have increased tenfold in size, and the perfume was helpless against the stench he bellowed out. Maggots and rats swarmed over his heaving body. His stitches were opening and closing over the cracks of his patchwork body, over the rats and maggots, masticating them and sucking them in.

He was feeding.

#94

Posted by: JeffreyD Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 9:40 PM

Brava and Bravo all.

Re vera, potas bene - but on the other hand - In caelum cerevisiae est nullum, Itaque hic bibemus illum!

#95

Posted by: Frogisis Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 9:45 PM

Grunting heroically, JZ exerted every muscle in his equally heroic frame in his attempt to free himself from the rosaries that were binding him to the marble floor -- A floor as cold as the feline gaze of the woman who had trapped him there.
His mind raced as he recalled the various artifacts he had accumulated on his person since that fateful night he was visited by the nun who would later betray him.
Remembering his ascetic skeptical training he received all those years ago on the summit of Mt. Sagan, he was able to discard erroneous ideas and come up with a plan.
But would he have time to put it into practice? Already the steel treads of the Megapopemobile were bearing down upon him...

#96

Posted by: Caine, ghetto féministe Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 9:47 PM

JeffreyD:

Re vera, potas bene

Not enough! I've only had one brew. I had best do some catching up.

#97

Posted by: WarrenS Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 9:47 PM

I am too busy, but somebody else should incorporate at least one castrato in this story. Maybe a whole lot of them. Even though everyone thinks the last one died in 1959...it turns out the mega-Pope is actually still carrying on the tradition...and using the, um, leftovers for his own nefarious purposes.

#98

Posted by: Misfire Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 9:53 PM

The man's pretty, oval face betrayed no emotion as he opened his mouth, and a bright, female voice enunciated, "I think you've come far enough today. We think you've come far enough."

#99

Posted by: Frogisis Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 9:54 PM

#97
Castrati are what pilot the Megapope's air brigade of censer-copters, obviously.

#100

Posted by: JeffreyD Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 9:55 PM

Not enough! I've only had one brew. I had best do some catching up.


Caine - Let me fill you a pint mug from my pitcher here...I am drinking Hennessy.

#101

Posted by: jeffreyhatley Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 9:58 PM

+1 for "papal agility"

#102

Posted by: Caine, ghetto féministe Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 9:59 PM

JeffreyD:

Caine - Let me fill you a pint mug from my pitcher here...I am drinking Hennessy.

Thank you, M'dear. I'll just put my knives down over here...

#103

Posted by: Misfire Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 10:00 PM

“Don’t you understand?” the castrato begged in his beautiful voice, “If there was no Jesus, there was no year zero! And without a year zero, the calendar inside every computer in the world will fail: banks will lose accounts, horses will eat each other, Wall Street will crash, men will lie with adult women, and the entire world’s nuclear arsenal will fire! Jesus is the only way.”

#104

Posted by: CompulsoryAccount7746 Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 10:04 PM

A pair of oversized gilded double doors shuddered and thrust open. Father McGruder strutted in.

"I kick ass for the lord."

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MfkHkdu5IEI

#105

Posted by: Carlie of the lacy, gently wafting adjectives Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 10:05 PM

And then another voice chimed in from the corner. "If there was no Jesus, not only would there not be a year zero, but the terms BC and AD would cease to have their agreed-upon meaning! People would begin to use BCE and CE, which I, as a historian, know to be an inferior method! The only proper terms are BC and AD, which I know, being a historian!"

And then everyone turned around and threw things at the voice in the corner until it shut up.

#106

Posted by: Lyn M: Just Lyn M. Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 10:06 PM

But little did JZ realise that help was at hand. Motivated help. Enraged help. The conductor of the All Castrati Papal Marching and Dance Club Band was ready for revenge. He recognised JZ's voice, having been following Pharygnula for nearly two years. He was all atheist now, and ready to make his wrath felt. JZ was his hero, and no megapope was going to touch him.
The conductor ground his teeth in determination, thinking, what moron of a pope created 35 castrati to play in a brass bloody band! He was going down!
Helping JZ was just the squid on top.

#107

Posted by: Caine, ghetto féministe Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 10:07 PM

Carlie:

The only proper terms are BC and AD, which I know, being a historian!"

And then everyone turned around and threw things at the voice in the corner until it shut up.

:snortle:

#108

Posted by: JeffreyD Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 10:09 PM

Suddenly, a pirate ship appeared on the horizon...a maid screams, "In his house at R'lyeh dead Cthulhu waits dreaming."


OK, too far off the story line?


Nice knives, Caine darlin'. Have I shown you my Finnish puukko knife?

#109

Posted by: tielserrath Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 10:12 PM

Carlie:

The only proper terms are BC and AD, which I know, being a historian!"

And then everyone turned around and threw things at the voice in the corner until it shut up.

:) :) :)

#110

Posted by: Caine, ghetto féministe Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 10:16 PM

JeffreyD:

OK, too far off the story line?

No. There's always room for pirates. Always. And Cthulhu, of course.

Have I shown you my Finnish puukko knife?

Oooooh. Why no, you haven't. Tease.

#111

Posted by: martha Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 10:20 PM

Meanwhile, Marie Le Gros Tetons watched events unfold from her monitor in the papal apartments. She twirled her hair between her finger and rocked back and forth slowly. Concentrate! Okay, there is no way they will elect another Pope. We should be fine! But what to do with the NinJesuits and the Resurrectionata? No job skills to speak of beyond playing a part in the end of the Catholic church. Worse, she still has an out of control serial killer who will inevitably want more. Men! But they have their uses. After all, The Jane is back.

#112

Posted by: Misfire Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 10:23 PM

"I've got it," he said, "quick, start touching me!"

"Now?" Yulia started, "But, but I..."

"Trust me--these people can't stand sex! Now really work it."

Sure enough the chisled guards gulped and turned away, and JZ and his three lively partners with heaving breasts walked out of the cold dungeon.

#113

Posted by: CompulsoryAccount7746 Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 10:24 PM

The eastern orthodox pope heaves a lonely sigh, forgotten again. "The Romans get all the action." He adjusts his pretty dress and pointy hat, then resumes watching the news on tv.

#114

Posted by: JeffreyD Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 10:24 PM

Chris, always a tease, darlink.

The puukko knife is what I use to perform forced mail circumcision prior to stealing the guy's wallet and giving it to a welfare queen on her fifth abortion while channeling a gold digging, male impersonating serial killer who is trying to suppress a near death experience and has just inherited a book bound with human skin from a girl in a miniskirt.

Oh, and making big trouble for moose and squirrel.

#115

Posted by: nigelTheBold, Minister of Spankings Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 10:27 PM

They played Duck, Duck, Goose to determine which among them would be God's Voice on Earth.

So far the honor was going to Cardinal Evanity. Tagged seven times, his face blanched with fear. He could feel the capillaries constricting around his testicles. I am being cupped by God's own hands, he thought rather unpiously. God did have a gentle touch, though. Gentle, and threatening.

Archbishop Castigate hobbled slowly around the circle, his cane tapping out a doleful rhythm. "Duck," he said, tapping Monsignor Kettle on the shorn crown of his head. "Duck," he said again, fervently -- almost reverently -- abiding by the holiest of rituals handed down from the time of Almighty Christ himself. Evanity huddled in on himself, trying to make himself smaller. This was a mighty task, as he had a mighty frame. Perhaps not mighty, he admitted. Perhaps he was just husky. Some might call him fat.

Some might call him "Fatty Evanity," but no longer to his face.

He's coming for me. Castigate circled around behind. "Duck." Fingers touched lightly at the top of Cardinal Hall's steel-grey head.

Evanity felt the archbishop tense behind him. The cane smacked his head with a meaty thwak. Evanity's ear stung fiercely. "Goose!" Castigate screeched.

The big man lumbered to his feet, manhandled the chair out of his way, and shambled after the deliriously giggling Castigate. I'll never catch him, he thought.

He wondered which piece of his papal body would be ripped from his Holy Corpse. Gloomily, he reflected that he now had eight points, and the game would soon be over.

It seemed to him God gave his testicles a fond little squeeze.




The rain pelted JZ's well-formed cranium like a warning.

If I had a spidey sense, it'd be tingling. Something was certainly amiss. The parking lot to the shrine was empty.

This is the place.


He had landed in Juneau near midnight the previous day. Chancellor Jean met him near the baggage carousel. "Hah!" Jean declared. "It is so good to see you, old friend."

Chancellor Alcroft Jean stood no more than five-foot six, barely reaching JZ's strong, wide chin. Though thin as a banker's conscience, JZ was amused to note Jean had developed a bit of a pot. He said, "And I, you." JZ reached out with his meaty and comforting hand. Jean stretched forth his slimmer hand. As they shook, JZ was saddened by the faded strength of his old mentor.

"How goes the professor profession?"

Jean laughed with a joyous abandon. "Lucrative, as ever. Why, with my next raise, I shall be making almost as much as the quarterback for the Cleveland Browns. Nick Whatshisface."

"Prokop."

"Yes," the older professor said. "Prokop." They walked out into the late-night Alaskan air.

The northern summer twilight kept the stars at bay, but did not provide enough light to navigate the small skiff Chancellor Jean had provided him. They spent the next four hours in Jean's island lair at Auke Bay.

"Nice digs!" JZ admired. "Is that three-quarter inch depleted uranium sheathing around the gun turrets?"

Jean beamed. "Why, yes it is! Those would be ruby plasma lasers if I had not squandered much of my wealth attempting to help that nice Nigerian boy regain his father's fortune." He sighed in resignation. "As it is, I must be content with hundred-gigajoule rail guns."

"That's too bad." JZ felt a vague sadness diffusing through his body. He was unsure why.

Jean stopped suddenly. "Say. Would you like to see my army of trained attack squid?"

"Absolutely!"

And so they spent their last few hours together.

At daybreak, Jean led JZ to the dock. "This is the best I can do, I'm afraid." He opened the hatch while JZ admired the craft. At three meters, it floated softly, like a laterally prolate cylindrical bubble. "Be careful taking it up onto land," Jean said. "It becomes unstable at speeds greater than one-hundred fifty kilometers per hour."

JZ gazed on his old friend in platonic admiration and love. "This has wheels?" He could think of nothing else to say. "Thanks, Alcroft."

Jean grinned with a simple delight. "De nada." He waved JZ into the cockpit, then turned and walked back to his stronghold.


No cars. No lights. The Shrine of St. Therese stood silent as a nun having sex. I was right. He's here.

JZ was prepared. His humiliating defeat on the stoney floors of the Basílica Nossa Senhora do Belém had given him the measure of his enemy. He's big, but slow, he thought. And then, in a flash, But damn he's big. And he seemed to heal almost instantly from blows that ought have slain the giant on the spot.

No. Those were not the words of a mighty skeptic, an atheist trained in the subtle and masterful arts of thought, motion, and intent.

A shadow moved behind the statue of the Little Flower of Jesus. JZ challenged, "I'm ready for you, Monster."

The shadow was far too small for a mega-pope. "Bah," the shadow uttered dismissively. "Better men than you have called me monster."

JZ recognized the voice. "Bill?" he called. "Bill Donohue?"

No voice could match Donohue when it came to sneering. He poured all his loathing for this vile cracker-hating Godless thug into his sneer. "Yes. It is I, your doom. In fact, call me Bill Doomohue. Now prepare to meet the maker in whom you so ignorantly do not believe!"

"Wait." JZ normally had to feign befuddlement. This time, it came naturally. "Could you diagram that for me, please?"

Doomohue sighed. "It's simple, really. You don't believe in God, right?"

JZ nodded.

"So it is He in whom you do not believe."

Again, JZ nodded. "Yeah, I understood your meaning. I just thought your sentence structure, while technically correct, was quaintly rococo, perhaps obscuring some hidden intent."

"Oh. No, no hidden intent." He paused a moment. "So, may I resume taunting you as a prelude to killing you? You kinda broke my flow."

"Sure," JZ replied. "By all means."

Doomohue snapped into a cat stance, the "striking pussycat." JZ assumed the more defensive horse stance, "equestrian fecality." The handsome skeptic broke pose momentarily to say, "Bring it on, meatsack."

"No!" screamed his attacker. "Doomohue! Not meatsack."

And the pussycat struck.


In the grand scheme of things, there is no scheme of things.

The same could be said of Donohue's fighting technique. As with his speech, his attacks were technically correct, but far too convoluted to be effective. JZ held his impervious defensive position, conserving energy and motion, observing as his enemy presented furious but impotent attacks.

I have only to let him wear himself down.

But Donohue's energy seemed inexhaustible. It was near dusk when JZ realized he was quite hungry. I must end this soon.

"I finally found a use for a consecrated host," he said, and smiled as Donohue took the bait like a trained attack squid on a freshman.

"What?" Donohue paused briefly, waiting for the reply.

"If you smash it up with a bit of water, it makes a great delivery system for anally-administered drugs."

Donohue stood, eyes wide with shock, mouth set in a rictus of hate. A primal scream escaped his chapped lips before his arms became a blur of overly-complex offenses.

Impressively, Donohue continued unabated for another thirty minutes. Inevitably, even his ninja-trained stamina could not overcome the impregnable skeptical defense. For an instant, Donohue stood between two worlds, that of the conscious, and that of the slumbering unconscious.

In that instant, he knew he had lost.

#116

Posted by: tielserrath Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 10:28 PM

Above ground, the zombies and the JZ clones espied each other. With a blood-curdling roar the two fearsome armies hurtled towards one another.

Below ground, JZ(Mk1.4) stared at the pope's vast, blubberlike body.

'It eez heem?' Sister Maria enquired.

'Oh, yes.'

At that moment a smaller figure staggered to its feet, discarding rosary beads all over the floor. it looked up at them and waved. 'JZ(Mk 3.3), checking in!'

And across the vault, another door opened, revealing JZ, Jane and Paolo.

'Dear FSM,' Jane breathed, staring not at the popemonster, but at JZ(Mk3.3). 'He's, um...'

'Much fitter than him,' completed Paolo, revealing a heretofore unsuspected inclination.

'Excuse me. Coming through. Oh, my goodness.' JZ(MK3.1) came down the steps and stopped, staring at Jane. He let JZ(Mk2.6) slide to the ground, where he lay quietly retching, and held out a hand. 'JZ(Mk3.1). You really are the most remarkable woman. I've read all your papers.'

'Excuse me,' JZ glared at him. 'Can we keep our attention on the matter in hand?'

#117

Posted by: CompulsoryAccount7746 Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 10:31 PM

Suddenly, a pirate ship appeared on the horizon...


OK, too far off the story line?


Pope John XXIII (1410-15) was a pirate.


Time travelling pirate cultists!

#118

Posted by: Lyn M: Just Lyn M. Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 10:36 PM

T-rexes in stealth bombers!

OK, maybe not.

#119

Posted by: JeffreyD Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 10:42 PM

T-rexes in stealth bombers!

Oh! I like that!

#120

Posted by: Lyn M: Just Lyn M. Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 10:44 PM

Calvin and Hobbes, although I wish I had thought of it.

#121

Posted by: Pierce R. Butler Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 10:44 PM

Somewhere around chapter three, it should be noted that all children under the age of puberty, plus 144,000 Jewish virgins, have mysteriously vanished at exactly the same time.

That should provide a classic lit'ry allusion for devotees of advanced thriller fiction - especially since no other changes in the world or the plot need occur in consequence. That way we can be sure no segment of the mid-apocalyptic reading market is left behind.

#122

Posted by: Caine, ghetto féministe Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 10:45 PM

Jeffrey:

The puukko knife is what I use to perform forced mail circumcision prior to stealing the guy's wallet and giving it to a welfare queen on her fifth abortion while channeling a gold digging, male impersonating serial killer who is trying to suppress a near death experience and has just inherited a book bound with human skin from a girl in a miniskirt.

What a masterful summation of the two recent menz threads! So that's what goes on...

As for moose and squirrel, hey, they're asking for it!

nigelTheBold, Captain Smug, OM @ 115:

:Stands and applauds, wildly!:

#123

Posted by: AlisonS Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 10:52 PM

tielserrah You write far too well for the Harlequin style. Personally, I have always been completely hopeless at writing fiction. However, if this imaginative exercise needs illustrations, I might be able to provide some really evil ones.

#124

Posted by: webriggs Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 10:53 PM

I told my three teenage children about your earlier post and they were all saying "he has to make this movie, it would be a great movie". So they will be excited to hear that you have started the story.

As for me, I'm going to suggest that you don't quit your day job. Hire a ghost writer. The story line is brilliant and it works very well. The writing, well, it needs a massage. I'm sure there will be many a volunteer masseuse out there.

Now I need to go back and read some of the earlier comments.

#125

Posted by: JeffreyD Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 10:57 PM

LynM - new to me, so you get credit.

Thanks, Caine - and on that note, bed. Will check this out again in the morning light.

Nite all.

#126

Posted by: Caine, ghetto féministe Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 11:01 PM

G'night, Jeffrey. I must wander off myself, I'm looking forward to all the new bits of The Papacy Pastiche in the morning.

#127

Posted by: Lyn M: Just Lyn M. Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 11:03 PM

@ Jeffery D

Been lurking a long time, but finally a thread I could get with! Making stuff up and mocking the pope and all. Awesome.

Hi all. Hope to comment a bit more, now that I have way more then dipped a toe in here. Really enjoy the various threads.

#128

Posted by: tielserrath Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 11:03 PM

JZ(Mk 2.9) looked down at the unconscious body of O'Donohue. It was hard being a good guy. Resisting the temptation to abandon his erstwhile foe to either zombie hordes or hypothermia, he bent down, shouldered the limp figure in a fireman's lift (this is one of the younger JZs) and walked out of the carpark.

The streets were deserted, but occasional light gleamed from an inadequately covered window. This particular street was familiar - and he smiled as he remembered why. Picking a door not-quite-randomly, he tapped twice, then three times.

Light footsteps ran down a flight of stairs, and then a young, mascaraed man in tight jeans and a singlet opened the door.

'Is this the Dionysian House of Delights?' JZ enquired.

The young man bowed. 'Monseignor, it is my pleasure to say that it is.'

"Oh, I'm not a priest,' JZ said hastily. 'But my friend here is. And very senior. Although inexperienced. But enthusiastic. He would love to see everything you have to offer to a man of his...stature. May I leave him with you?'

'Of course.' The young man smiled. 'And the...ahem...fee?'

'Will be covered, as usual.' JZ jerked his head in the direction of vatican city.

Minutes later he was hurrying in that direction himself, as the door to Dyonysius' heaven closed softly behind him.

#129

Posted by: howard.peirce Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 11:05 PM

@ David Marjanović --

There are no common blasphemies in the German language.

Of course. What was I thinking? Everyone knows Americans don't do satire. I should've just skipped the fake footnote.

#130

Posted by: howard.peirce Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 11:07 PM

@ David Marjanović --

There are no common blasphemies in the German language.

Of course. What was I thinking? Everyone knows Americans don't do satire. I should've just skipped the fake footnote. Anglophones have no concept of dry wit -- the Internet proves this is true.

#131

Posted by: Sven DiMilo Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 11:07 PM

howard.peirce:
Marjanović is not an American.
But I agree with you that the footnote was a bad call. The rest was pretty funny.

#132

Posted by: Caine, ghetto féministe Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 11:08 PM

Lyn M:

Hi all.

Hi, Lyn, I've enjoyed your posts in this thread, keep 'em coming.

#133

Posted by: Lyn M: Just Lyn M. Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 11:08 PM

Far away, the Orthodox not-yet-Megapope adjusted his monitor and settled back in his pretty dress. Hey, Dionysus' Heaven had just kicked into high gear on its very special popes only channel. Doomohue? It rarely got better then this.

#134

Posted by: Lyn M: Just Lyn M. Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 11:11 PM

Hi Caine. I am glad you liked the posts. I must say, I have long admired your nick. Fleur du mal is most impressive.

Thanks for the hello.

#135

Posted by: tielserrath Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 11:12 PM

Can I just apologise here for all my typos?

And can I point out that if we're following proper plot arcs, the popemonster has to escape now, just as the reader thinks it's all over?

We need to go international here - where is the popemonster's secret hiding place? That vast futuristic lair that has been built by a thousand brickies, welders, fitters and so on with not one calling a newspaper/TV station and saying 'Don't know if you're interested but...'

#136

Posted by: CompulsoryAccount7746 Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 11:12 PM

Ken Ham comes riding in on a pilfered chickenosaurus* wielding scripture-inscribed pistols akimbo. A manic aussie warcry fills the air and headshots abound as Ninja Jesuits copllapse into heaps.

* He wouldn't care how the evil lying scientists made it.

#137

Posted by: Caine, ghetto féministe Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 11:12 PM

howard.peirce:

Everyone knows Americans don't do satire. I should've just skipped the fake footnote. Anglophones have no concept of dry wit -- the Internet proves this is true.

Being condescending probably won't be overly helpful. Welcome to the internet, where you can't assume where someone is from, welcome to Pharyngula, where we do actually get humor, including the dry wit kind.

#138

Posted by: Lyn M: Just Lyn M. Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 11:16 PM

@ tielserrath -- typos? What typos?

How about the Forbidden City? He can decide he is also a resurrectionata Emperor. Lot of construction there for the 2008 Olympics and a place that big has got to have the biggest basement you've ever seen. Or a tomb. Same thing in terms of restoration construction for a year or more.

Sorry about resurrectionata spelling, I know it's wrong but I can't find the post with the proper spelling.

#139

Posted by: howard.peirce Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 11:20 PM

Sven @ 131,

David MyKeyboardWontMakeThoseCharacters is not an American, as I'm well aware, but I certainly am an American, for better or worse. I thought the footnote was pretty funny, but perhaps only because I watched an entire episode of Bones over the holiday.

But Holy Cow, Americans can't do irony. Not sarcasm, not pathos, not litotes -- no kind of irony. It's an inherent property of the English language, tempered by our Wild West heritage with the cowboys and whatnot.

Nope. No irony from Americans. Can't help it.

You know, Dan Brown is an American. Just sayin'.

#140

Posted by: Caine, ghetto féministe Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 11:20 PM

Lyn M:

Fleur du mal is most impressive.

Baudelaire gets all the credit for that one.

tielserrath, don't worry about typos. As for international, Compulsory Account @113 brought up the Eastern Orthodox pope, which I think would be a good line to bring in.

#141

Posted by: Lyn M: Just Lyn M. Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 11:24 PM

OK. I thought it was an adaptation as Baudelaire used Fleurs du Mal, and I thought you had changed it to refer to yourself only.

Still like it.

#142

Posted by: Caine, ghetto féministe Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 11:24 PM

howard.peirce:

You know, Dan Brown is an American. Just sayin'.

Yeah, and? Brown's nationality doesn't matter, he's an incredibly bad writer. That matters. He's hardly representative of 'Merican writers, either.

Instead of opining, why not continue adding to The Papacy Pastiche? It's all just fun, you know.

#143

Posted by: Markita Lynda: Healthcare is a damn right Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 11:26 PM

I'm dazzled by everyone's facile wit and purple prose!

Uh, it's "fluorescent," not "flourescent." Unless there's flour involved?

#144

Posted by: 'Tis Himself, Quel Dommage Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 11:27 PM

Suddenly, from out of nowhere, a horde* of naked lesbians masturbating furiously with Bibles came running past. There was a distinct smell of bacon emitting from this group. Behind them an anonymous yet annoying man trotted along, bemoaning the absence of a Leica M7 rangefinder camera. "Oh if only I hadn't left the hallowed halls of Stuyvesant High School, I would have my very own Leica M7. Woe is me."

Marie asked JZ, "What is that man running from?"

JZ scratched his head. "I'm not sure, I don't see any mendacious intellectual pornographers around here. Perhaps he is running toward something or somewhere rather than away from something."

Meanwhile, back at the plot**...

*A small horde. Perhaps a crowd or just a crew.

**Such as it is.

#145

Posted by: howard.peirce Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 11:29 PM

Okay, this is bizarre. I started with this metacomment of the type that is so popular on the Intertubes these days, and now I've got both David M. and Sven DeMilo lecturing me about what I don't understand about rhetorical tropes.

I would really like to walk the two of them down to the banks of the Ohio, and then, just when they're expecting to drink E coli-infested river water, give 'em a big kiss.

#146

Posted by: Caine, ghetto féministe Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 11:32 PM

Lyn M:

I thought you had changed it to refer to yourself only.

Oh, I did. Still, if it weren't for Baudelaire...so, he gets credit.

'Tis:

Suddenly, from out of nowhere, a horde* of naked lesbians masturbating furiously with Bibles came running past. There was a distinct smell of bacon emitting from this group.

I knew something was missing!

#147

Posted by: tielserrath Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 11:36 PM

'Yargle!' JZ(Mksomething-or-other) cried as sister Marie's hand closed around his throat.

'Nobody move!' she screamed in a thick german accent.

'OMG' Palol said, causing Jane and multiple JZs to glare at him. 'No, look, she has a weapon!'

In her other hand Sister Marie held her breast, with the nipple pointed straight at JZ (one of them. This is getting confusing.).

'Stay back! You think these are silicon? How wrong you are! Fools! I am sister Maria of The Gross Toten, the company of death, and we die in service of the pope!'

That's all very well,' JZ pointed out reasonably, 'but as far as I can see it's that man who's being strangled doing the dying, and that doesn't quite fit, does it?'

'He dies in the service of god! No man could ask for more!'

'Not silicon?' Paolo said loudly.

Sister Maria gave a scream of outrage, a jet of fluid shot across the vault, hitting the rock wall a few inches from Jane. The rock began to buble and dissolve.

'Oh, I say,' JZ(Mk3.1) frowned at it. 'That looks like some kind of acid, don't you think?'

'Oh, shit.' Jane grabbed JZ's arm. The bed on which the popemonster lay was rising up from the floor, a clear shell sliding over the vas figure. Above their heads the roof groaned, and dust and plaster rained down as a crack appeared, widening to reveal the night sky.

'He's getting away!' JZ yelled.
'Bleurgh!' JZ(Mk2.6) threw up again.
'Yargle!' JZ (whatever) said as Sister Maria shook him by the throat.

JZ(Mk3.1) glanced cautiously at JZ, who was still staring upwards, then reached across and pulled Jane against his manly chest as the poperocket blasted into the starry darkness...

#148

Posted by: Lyn M: Just Lyn M. Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 11:36 PM

@ Fleur -- fair enough.

The castrati Marching Band decided they could run if they had to, and pursued the masturbating lesbians. Hell, if they could do it, so could the band! Although it turned out that they didn't need the bibles, when it came to it.

[Please check your castrati literature. Yes, lots of them had a form of sexual intercourse, although without the guy stuff, of course.]

#149

Posted by: Caine, ghetto féministe Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 11:36 PM

Hmmm, there should be Venus Vagina flytraps coming into the story about now...nothing like deadly vaginas to defeat the herds of priests.

#150

Posted by: CompulsoryAccount7746 Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 11:41 PM

Ken ham grins at the sole cowering ninja survivor he deliberately spared. "That was even more fun than last time. See ya agin' in another year."


He rides away, muttering bitter anti-catholic sentiments to himself, utterly unaware of the assistance Ham's gory annual baptism offered the heathen protagonist.

#151

Posted by: howard.peirce Author Profile Page | February 4, 2011 11:44 PM

Caine, Fleur de mal: I'm actually a huge fan of Baudelaire, tempered only by the poor quality of my French and my need for multiple parallel translations. But the Internet has those, so, hooray!

I have spent many delightful hours with the decadent poetry of Beaudelaire. I've also done the usual Anglophone exercise of comparing Beaudelaire's translations of Poe with the (decidedly American) original. For all my jingoism, I gotta admit that Beaudelaire' translation sometimes beats Poe's original.

I made a contribution to the pastiche, pace Language Log and Language Hat, so I thought I'd done my Internetly duty. David and Sven are both commenters I see all over the place, and admire to a great degree, so when they both misread the fake footnote as jingoism, I felt a bit of personal pride, because I admire them both so much.

Taking in Sven and David, I admit, felt like a victory. Taking in you, Caine, feels like collateral damage, despite your obvious love for Beaudelaire.

#152

Posted by: Die Anyway Author Profile Page | February 5, 2011 12:22 AM

Warning... anecdote ahead!!!

In 1970 I was in the Air Force and a long way from home (home is Florida, I was in Monterrey, California). A couple of buddies and I decided to go camping and checked out some camping gear from the base supply center. We found a great campground among the giant redwoods. Somewhere on the second day one of the guys brought out a porn novel. As I recall it was called "Who Cocked Kitty Robin". I've searched the internet and don't find it listed anywhere so it must not have been a best seller... but it should have. :)
Well anyway, we sat around the picnic table downing a couple of bottles of vino and taking turns reading a page or two from the book. It was one of the best times I've ever had... getting a bit tipsy and reading those really bad puns, wild inuendos and downright disgusting descriptions. The whole reason I bring this up is that PZ has faithfully replicated the tone of that book. I recall one scene in which our hero was laying on his back with his mighty 3' cock thrust into the air like a tent pole. He grabbed a virgin, slammed her down on his throbbing rod and spun her like a helicopter blade. When he came the force of his monstrous ejaculations bounced her a foot into the air with each one.
They just don't write them like that any more, except that after reading some of the submissions above, I'm thinking that the genre is still alive.
A bottle of wine and PZ's new book and my life could be complete. :-)

#153

Posted by: Misfire Author Profile Page | February 5, 2011 12:28 AM

The German footnote was funny. Christ.

#154

Posted by: CompulsoryAccount7746 Author Profile Page | February 5, 2011 12:47 AM

The pinned-down Archbishop of Canterbury struggled under the gleaming knife blade. "How many times do I have to explain this? I'm not the anglican pope!"


The monster lurched a shrug and harvested the plump throbbing organs contained within his pretty dress anyway, just in case.

#155

Posted by: tielserrath Author Profile Page | February 5, 2011 1:13 AM

JZ(Mk 3.1 lay in the rubble, wrapped protectively around the slim figure. She was still breathing, and to his relief - and surprise - her hand moved, sliding over his hip and across his groin.

'Mm,' he said quietly. He only had to tilt his head a little to rest his cheek agaist hers. Each time he tried to open his eyes hhe was rewarded with a blast of gritty dust, so he kept them closed, nuzzling into her, shifting his hips in a way he hoped sent the correct signals. His own hand found the fastening of her jeans, slid inside...

'Buon giorno.' The throaty whisper came just as his hand encountered exactly what he wasn't looking for.

'Shit!' He pushed upwards, cracked his head on a fallen beam and sank, stunned, into Paolo's willing arms.


Meanwhile on the surface:

JZ and Jane clambered to the top of the rubble and watched the poperocket, now only a winking dot in the sky.

'What do we do now?' Jand sank onto a curiously tilted statue, making it seem, in the dust-filled darkness, that she had angel wings protruding from her ass. The efect, JZ found, was curiously erotic.


A short distance away, JZ(whatever) pulled Sister Marie from a collapsed tunnel. She clung to him, which made him slightly nervous, knowing she had two bags of concentrated acid pressed firmly to his chest. But then again...

'he took hold of her hands, placed them gently around his neck. 'Do you think you could--' he said diffidently, 'I mean, while we...'

'Oh, yes,' she breathed.

They had lost most of their clothes in the rockfall, and his erection stood like a gleaming salmon in the pale moonlight, needing only to leap up, to make that tortured and yet satisfying journey. he thrust and jumped, her hands tightening around his throat. Would he reach the spawning ground before he ran out of air?

Onwards and upwards, per ardua ad astra, hearing gone, vision fading, he had to get there or die in the attempt. He was a fish and she was his enveloping sea [um, PZ, does scienceblogs have rules about this?]

#156

Posted by: CompulsoryAccount7746 Author Profile Page | February 5, 2011 1:22 AM

The first victim had authorities puzzled. The scene fit the MO perfectly, except nobody knew him: a cross-dressed nobody* alone in his flat.


Only after his elaborate series of nation-hopping and intrigue could JZ return to definitively explain why what remained of this man's entrails decorated the walls.


"This one was head of an underground heretic sect maintaining the 600-year French papacy of Avignon."


* snicker, cross

#157

Posted by: CompulsoryAccount7746 Author Profile Page | February 5, 2011 1:36 AM

@155:

his erection stood like a gleaming salmon in the pale moonlight
Just. Wow.

#158

Posted by: tielserrath Author Profile Page | February 5, 2011 1:54 AM

Thankyou.

*curtseys*

#159

Posted by: Misfire Author Profile Page | February 5, 2011 3:13 AM

With two columns of smoke still climbing against the red horizon from the twin cities of Sodom and Gomorrah, JZ turned to Marie. “You were awfully quiet during the fighting,” he noted. “Is anything wrong?”

“I em pregnant.”

“You should have an abortion.”

“Mes ow can I ave zis abortion? I em a Catolique nun!”

“Well,” JZ spoke calmly, with reason sharp enough to splice a human hair—and not necessarily a pubic hair at that, any old hair—“you believe life starts at conception, right?”

“Mes oui! Eet is ze person unique!”

“Well, now let’s say you could take a single human egg and a single human sperm, and hold the sperm by the tail a hair’s breadth away from the egg. And it doesn’t even have to be a hair from your head, it could even be pubic hair’s distance away. Now that combination would, if you were to let go, also create a unique human someday, right? So what’s the difference?”

“Mr. andsome Ateist! You are so clever! I want to have zis abortion right away!”

So at the next city they pulled into a hospital and Marie had an abortion. She didn’t feel any guilt or shame, and the two of them left with their spirits high as he floored the gas, spinning plumes of sand into the now night sky, and the popemobile took off. All around them tiny streams of light, forged thousands or millions or years ago in the fusion furnaces of distant stars, poured gently down upon them, and with the steady hum of exploding gasoline in their ears they raced onwards towards whatever lay waiting at Urk.

#160

Posted by: Owlmirror Author Profile Page | February 5, 2011 3:31 AM

Deep in a dark, dank underground dungeon below a forbidding gray castle in southern Spain, a meeting of the ninja Jesuits was taking place. Flickering yellow torches lit the walls, revealing the ancient remnants of chains and sundry torture equipment next to the walls and in the corners.

A group of twelve robed figures stood waiting quietly, except for one seated at a small desk, quill pen poised to take minutes.

A thirteenth figure, wearing a robe much like the others, entered. The twelve others bowed slightly towards him, and said "Konnichiwa, Sensei-otosan Subaru, in Christ's name."

"Konnichiwa, Brethren. Let's keep this brief; events are moving rapidly. Brother Nigiri -- report."

Brother Nigiri nodded. "The Megapope has claimed another victim. The college of cardinals has not yet elected a new pope. Brother Kappamaki" -- one of the hooded figures nodded in acknowledgement here -- "has reported that the Megapope now believes that his collection of papal parts is now large enough to grant him a majority vote in that college."

Sensei Subaru looked startled. "What? You mean ... "

Brother Kappamaki nodded again, and said "Yes, Sensei. The Megapope is poised to stalk cardinals now, pronounce them pope, and then kill them and add parts of them to his papal part collection."

Sensei Subaru murmured "Habemus Papam, indeed! Well, well ... how unexpected! We will discuss how to deal with this turn of events, after we finish with the reports. Brother Nigiri?"

Brother Nigiri continued. "We have also heard a strange and terrible rumour -- that one of the factions opposing us has dared to go to the enemy of us all in search of help! Yes, they have solicited none other than the infamous and despised gaijin atheist -- Josiah Zebediah Mordecai!"

"What!" ejaculated Sensei Subaru, glaring angrily at Brother Nigiri. "How can they dare ..."

"It gets worse, Sensei. Brother Tako has heard that this Josiah Zebediah; this ... JZ ... is possessed by one of the oni of the infernal depths!"

"An oni!" screamed Sensei Subaru. "Brother Tako! Explain!"

Brother Tako cleared his throat nervously. "Yes, Father. Well, a file composed by one in my team, Brother Ika -- a most sober and trustworthy member of our order, I can assure you -- includes intelligence that JZ has desecrated Eucharistic wafers by the use of physical violence, and has also desecrated the Eucharistic wine by ..." Here Brother Tako gulped unhappily. "By... um, spitting in it. And then urinating in it. And then spilling his seed in it. And then pouring it down a sewer, and then declaring that it was not sacred, despite the fact that a priest had indeed made the proper sacramental blessing of it. Oh, and apparently, sometimes, his eyes -- which we all know are windows to the soul -- change colour in a most distressing fashion."

Sensei Subaru stood silently for some moments. "We can take no chances. We must be ready to exorcise any fiend from hell that resides within him and drives him to greater and greater blasphemies. This may weaken him enough for ... more conventional means to dispatch his soul to hell. And we need a dedicated and pure soldier of God who will be ready to dispatch the traitors who solicited his aid." His eyes moved to one of the figures who had not yet spoken. "Brother Baka -- will you be that soldier?"

Brother Baka stepped forward, bowed, and said, "Deus lo vult, Sensei."

[...]

After the meeting was concluded, Brother Baka went to the exercise room to hone and test his skills. The exercise room was festooned with ikons, paintings, and posters of Jesus, Blessed Mary, various saints, and images of various innocent Catholics. Interspersed among these were the targets -- plain white paper with black silhouettes of the enemies of God. There was a Christ-killing Jew, recognisable because the silhouette's head was helpfully in profile, highlighting the long hooked nose; a Mahometean-worshipper with a rag bound around his head; an otherwise indistinguishable female figure who was, presumably, some man-hating lesbian feminist or whore-slut who had just had an abortion performed; a doctor with a labcoat outlined in white on the black of the silhouette who presumptatively had performed the abortion; some foul heretics -- here the target-creator had stencilled in "Albigenisen", "Lutheran", "Calvinist", and so on; two pagans (one male, with a pentacle stencil, the other female, with a labrys figure); a pederast whose silhouette was a slim male figure with a limp wrist; and so on.

Hitting a non-target figure was, of course, a venial sin, and required confession, penance, and target practice in a room without the holy images.

Brother Baka stood in the centre of the room, and then whirled around, bright sharp shiny things flashing from himself to the various targets.

He then stood and surveyed his handiwork.

The Jew and the Mahometean had taken shurikens to the throat. Throwing knives had sprouted from the head of the whore-slut and the heart of the abortionist. Two of the heretics had shurikens in their hearts. The two pagans had knives in their chests as well. The pederast -- and here Brother Baka frowned unhappily -- had a throwing knife sticking from his crotch, which was not where it had been aimed, at all.

Brother Baka sighed, gathered his weapons from the targets, and returned to his chamber, elsewhere in the castle, to prepare for the hunt.

Once, there had been an old priest, as well as himself. Once, they had been a team, exorcising together. But Brother Anago -- had succumbed; defeated by the forces of darkness that they had been opposing. There had been an incident; bad things had followed -- and now Brother Baka was alone. He knew that he should recruit an apprentice, to pass on his knowledge of fighting the powers of evil -- but there was something about the younger novices that made him very nervous. He could not quite put his hand on where the problem was, but he, normally deadly and supremely confident, found himself stiff and flustered whenever he reviewed the potential candidates in his mind. So he remained alone.

Brother Baka removed his robes, and donned the sombre black suit -- especially tailored with pockets, loops, and spring-traps that held his various nasty surprises -- of his outside persona, and carefully placed the formal stiff white collar around his neck. He double-checked that his armoured briefcase had everything he needed in its padded compartments -- extra shuriken and throwing knives, caltrops, daggers, poisons, antidotes, garrottes, blowgun and darts, bell (with muffled clapper), book, candle, flask of holy water, 9mm Glock, silencer, and extra ammunition clips. He nodded to himself, and snapped the briefcase shut.

Fr. Jonah Grease, Esq., was ready to work.

/Needs!! moar!! purple!! . . . !!

#161

Posted by: Dancaban Author Profile Page | February 5, 2011 5:45 AM

Crowd sourcing a novel? Is that how the bible was written?

#162

Posted by: puseaus Author Profile Page | February 5, 2011 6:50 AM

"...Oh, ze 'umanity," she groaned.

"his blood dripping like scarlet pancake batter"

I was following such a trail down at the Central Square (Jernbanetorget) Subway station yesterday. It was really more like thin juice, the drop trail ended in a small pool of blood. But then, this would have come from a drug addict on the way home after a meeting with the economy consultant, and papal blood will naturally give a more robust impression.

#163

Posted by: JeffreyD Author Profile Page | February 5, 2011 7:26 AM

Catching up...notes along the way.

Hi Lyn (waves)

Sven -

Vatican astronomer, homeopathy apologist, and crafty secret master ninja Msgr. Jack “Kwack” Quok

Standing applause.

Back to reading.

#164

Posted by: JeffreyD Author Profile Page | February 5, 2011 7:42 AM

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, granny was single handedly beating off the Indians.


Folks, loved this thread. Lots of weirdly talented people.

#165

Posted by: Rixaeton Author Profile Page | February 5, 2011 7:43 AM

Two figures met in the stainless-steel, windowless corridor.
“Did you hear? Mr K said that the time is upon us. There was a Sign.”
“A sign?”
“No, a Sign. One of those capital-S ones.”
“We must prepare the entrance door for He Who Shambles Through”
“Yes, the MegaPope must gain entrance.”

O'Donohue emerged from the Dionysian Doorway, somewhat shamefacedly. Sure it had been physically what he had been longing for all this time, but this time was not the time to dwell on that time that was but moments ago, timeless. Brother Kan had a plan, but will that plan now work, with the MegaPope now arching into the sky? O’Donohue had to know. With trembling fingers, he started to enter the number for Mr Kan.

Henn Kan looked around with a pleased expression on his usually haggard face. The curiously wooden structure that he was pacing through looked archaic, even ancient, even though construction had only just been completed. “Strewth,” he exclaimed to himself, “that MegaPope surely is a smart one. Who would think of looking in Kentucky, in a strangely unseaworthy ship no less, for a serial killing, ultimately sacred, mastermind?”

His reverie was interrupted by the vibrating of his cell phone. With a fluid motion he whipped it out, and pressed the appropriate button.

“Henn, " O’Donohue sobbed, "I lost my battle with JZ. His wit and logic were too much for me. His arguments against us were so, well, strident. He even denied we had a purpose to begin with.”
“No worries, mate, “ Kan drawled, “we got the hide-out all ready. Ship shape, metaphorically speaking. Here, take a look,” and with that Kan took a panoramic photo with his cell phone.”

O’Donohue could not believe his eyes, and that is saying a lot given what he could believe in despite his eyes. A wooden ship? It certainly looked like one.

“Are you mad!?” he exclaimed into the mouthpiece, “A wooden ship is no place to protect His Monstrosness, no matter how sacred his Bits now are.’

“Relax Donny, “ Henn breathed, ”beneath this humble wooden exterior is a mega stainless-steel bunker, graciously financed and built by the Good Ole U S of A.”

“But but but, “ O’Donohue rebutted, “won’t the US govt be suspicious as to why you had them build an underground bunker?”

The smooth reply came back, “They have no suspicion that it is even there. The plans were cleverly embedded in the proposal, and were singed off on as a matter of course.
Well, you don’t expect people to really read what’s in a 10,000 page document when serving up for subsidies, do you?”

“Won’t JZ figure it out?”

“Heh, “Kan sniggered, “he would, if he had the Four Horseman working with him, but we have them nicely tied up. Accomodated, if you will, by the various branches of the Ninja Jesuits. It would take a miracle for them to get free, team up with JZ, not get distracted by our especially chosen and well endowed Double Agent, and arrive in time to stop… well, what is to come.”

“Mwahahaha” he added.

#166

Posted by: Caine, ghetto féministe Author Profile Page | February 5, 2011 7:54 AM

Somewhere, a fiberglass triceratops farted ominously...

#167

Posted by: Marc Abian Author Profile Page | February 5, 2011 8:29 AM

JZ walked cooly away, more of a strut really. Who could blame him? Behind him the temple burned, sending flames up into the unholy night. Sporadic minor explosions rent the air as parts of the structure came craching down, but this was juxtaposed really well with JZ's confident unbroken walk. Like the end of chapter 3 and the middle of 5, it was the type of spectacular scene which would work really well on a film adaption. It would probably make billions. Seriously. But the total awesomeness wasn't what brought a smile to the face of who was watching, unbeknowstto JZ, on a monitor. The carbon emmissions were.
The planes, the explosions, the infernos. JZ was generating heat more ways than one. Probably closer to 4 really. The watcher slithered off to inform his master that everything was proceeding according to plan. Centuries of time biding would soon be over. He made his way to the innermost sanctum of the papal caves and found his sacred leader reclining on a hot rock.
"The temple in Indonesia is now a bonfire, Sire."
And a smile played across the lips of his master, the Lizard Pope.

#168

Posted by: hyperdeath Author Profile Page | February 5, 2011 8:41 AM

Hyperdeath:

JZ woke up on a hard stone floor. He opened his Tetraammine diaqua copper(II) blue eyes to reveal four solid walls.

Guy M:


JZ has GREY eyes, can't you read?

You're neglecting chapter 5, where The Cephalopod King switches the eyes of JZ and Sister Marie.

#169

Posted by: Rixaeton Author Profile Page | February 5, 2011 9:02 AM

JZ(Mk3.1) cast a glance to his other JZ(Mk whatevers) selves. "Let’s face it, "he astutely put it to the group, "he got away."

Prof. Jane shook her head, her wavy hair tousled from the excessive ‘getting-to-know-you-again’ exercises, and also having cheated death, YET AGAIN, without even the satisfaction of getting a research grant approved.

"Listen to me, JZs, whatever your Mark, it is not as simple as pulling yourselves together. You have to admit that as clones you are, by definition, imperfectly adapted to this new combat environment. The assumption that the multiply-specialized JZ Marks would be enough was just that; an assumption. We all know that assumptions need to be challenged if the evidence of their success is not found through practical application of the theory. We have to admit we were wrong, and start again. Because being correct is more important than false self-congratulatory ignorance. We must go where the evidence takes us. Assumptions must be challenged, so we need to review the basis for your existence."

"In short, we need to find JZ-zero."

If the skies were overcast, a thunderclap would have resounded through at this point, but it wasn’t so it didn’t.

Marie turned to the JZ closest to her, bumping him pleasantly back approximately 17.2cm. "Where can we find zis Jay Zee-zeru?" she inquired.
JZ(Mk2.6) replied, "Last I heard, he was in Indonesia, doing his strident, strutting striding thing."

Fr. Jonah Grease, Esq. sniffed the smokey, soot-stained rubble. It was a recent conflagration. That much was certain. Not much of the secret temple remained, except the pile of stones that were once the central altar, and the gift shop at the entrance to the clearing. There’s nothing else for it, but to look under the altar. That would be the traditional thing to do.
Raising and turning over the blackened stones, he could just make out the graffiti scrawl on the holiest-of-holies. Although no living witnesses could testify to it, Fr. Jonah Grease, Esq. did smile on occasion. This was one of them. I know you were here. You just can’t help yourself, can you JZ? As best he could interpret, the message JZ left was:

Jeez. I've given you guys everything, all you need to do is pile up a bunch of … flesh [to work] out the plot.”

I have you now, JZ

#170

Posted by: Quodlibet Author Profile Page | February 5, 2011 9:11 AM

"a pilfered chickenosaurus"

...or a crocoduck?

#171

Posted by: Pacal Author Profile Page | February 5, 2011 9:13 AM

Although your writing contains such gems of $%%^^<img alt="Author Profile Page" src="http://scienceblogs.com/mt-static/images/comment/mt_logo.png" width="16" height="16" /> | February 5, 2011 8:41 AM

Hyperdeath:

JZ woke up on a hard stone floor. He opened his Tetraammine diaqua copper(II) blue eyes to reveal four solid walls.

Guy M:


JZ has GREY eyes, can't you read?

You're neglecting chapter 5, where The Cephalopod King switches the eyes of JZ and Sister Marie.

#169

Posted by: Rixaeton Author Profile Page | February 5, 2011 9:02 AM

JZ(Mk3.1) cast a glance to his other JZ(Mk whatevers) selves. "Let’s face it, "he astutely put it to the group, "he got away."

Prof. Jane shook her head, her wavy hair tousled from the excessive ‘getting-to-know-you-again’ exercises, and also having cheated death, YET AGAIN, without even the satisfaction of getting a research grant approved.

"Listen to me, JZs, whatever your Mark, it is not as simple as pulling yourselves together. You have to admit that as clones you are, by definition, imperfectly adapted to this new combat environment. The assumption that the multiply-specialized JZ Marks would be enough was just that; an assumption. We all know that assumptions need to be challenged if the evidence of their success is not found through practical application of the theory. We have to admit we were wrong, and start again. Because being correct is more important than false self-congratulatory ignorance. We must go where the evidence takes us. Assumptions must be challenged, so we need to review the basis for your existence."

"In short, we need to find JZ-zero."

If the skies were overcast, a thunderclap would have resounded through at this point, but it wasn’t so it didn’t.

Marie turned to the JZ closest to her, bumping him pleasantly back approximately 17.2cm. "Where can we find zis Jay Zee-zeru?" she inquired.
JZ(Mk2.6) replied, "Last I heard, he was in Indonesia, doing his strident, strutting striding thing."

Fr. Jonah Grease, Esq. sniffed the smokey, soot-stained rubble. It was a recent conflagration. That much was certain. Not much of the secret temple remained, except the pile of stones that were once the central altar, and the gift shop at the entrance to the clearing. There’s nothing else for it, but to look under the altar. That would be the traditional thing to do.
Raising and turning over the blackened stones, he could just make out the graffiti scrawl on the holiest-of-holies. Although no living witnesses could testify to it, Fr. Jonah Grease, Esq. did smile on occasion. This was one of them. I know you were here. You just can’t help yourself, can you JZ? As best he could interpret, the message JZ left was:

Jeez. I've given you guys everything, all you need to do is pile up a bunch of … flesh [to work] out the plot.”

I have you now, JZ

#170

Posted by: Quodlibet Author Profile Page | February 5, 2011 9:11 AM

"a pilfered chickenosaurus"

...or a crocoduck?

#171

Posted by: Pacal Author Profile Page | February 5, 2011 9:13 AM

Although your writing contains such gems of $%%^^mg alt="Author Profile Page" src="http://scienceblogs.com/mt-static/images/comment/mt_logo.png" width="16" height="16" /> | February 5, 2011 8:41 AM

Hyperdeath:

JZ woke up on a hard stone floor. He opened his Tetraammine diaqua copper(II) blue eyes to reveal four solid walls.

Guy M:


JZ has GREY eyes, can't you read?

You're neglecting chapter 5, where The Cephalopod King switches the eyes of JZ and Sister Marie.

#169

Posted by: Rixaeton Author Profile Page | February 5, 2011 9:02 AM

JZ(Mk3.1) cast a glance to his other JZ(Mk whatevers) selves. "Let’s face it, "he astutely put it to the group, "he got away."

Prof. Jane shook her head, her wavy hair tousled from the excessive ‘getting-to-know-you-again’ exercises, and also having cheated death, YET AGAIN, without even the satisfaction of getting a research grant approved.

"Listen to me, JZs, whatever your Mark, it is not as simple as pulling yourselves together. You have to admit that as clones you are, by definition, imperfectly adapted to this new combat environment. The assumption that the multiply-specialized JZ Marks would be enough was just that; an assumption. We all know that assumptions need to be challenged if the evidence of their success is not found through practical application of the theory. We have to admit we were wrong, and start again. Because being correct is more important than false self-congratulatory ignorance. We must go where the evidence takes us. Assumptions must be challenged, so we need to review the basis for your existence."

"In short, we need to find JZ-zero."

If the skies were overcast, a thunderclap would have resounded through at this point, but it wasn’t so it didn’t.

Marie turned to the JZ closest to her, bumping him pleasantly back approximately 17.2cm. "Where can we find zis Jay Zee-zeru?" she inquired.
JZ(Mk2.6) replied, "Last I heard, he was in Indonesia, doing his strident, strutting striding thing."

Fr. Jonah Grease, Esq. sniffed the smokey, soot-stained rubble. It was a recent conflagration. That much was certain. Not much of the secret temple remained, except the pile of stones that were once the central altar, and the gift shop at the entrance to the clearing. There’s nothing else for it, but to look under the altar. That would be the traditional thing to do.
Raising and turning over the blackened stones, he could just make out the graffiti scrawl on the holiest-of-holies. Although no living witnesses could testify to it, Fr. Jonah Grease, Esq. did smile on occasion. This was one of them. I know you were here. You just can’t help yourself, can you JZ? As best he could interpret, the message JZ left was:

Jeez. I've given you guys everything, all you need to do is pile up a bunch of … flesh [to work] out the plot.”

I have you now, JZ

#170

Posted by: Quodlibet Author Profile Page | February 5, 2011 9:11 AM

"a pilfered chickenosaurus"

...or a crocoduck?

#171

Posted by: Pacal Author Profile Page | February 5, 2011 9:13 AM

Although your writing contains such gems of $%%^^ alt="Author Profile Page" src="http://scienceblogs.com/mt-static/images/comment/mt_logo.png" width="16" height="16" /> | February 5, 2011 8:41 AM

Hyperdeath:

JZ woke up on a hard stone floor. He opened his Tetraammine diaqua copper(II) blue eyes to reveal four solid walls.

Guy M:


JZ has GREY eyes, can't you read?

You're neglecting chapter 5, where The Cephalopod King switches the eyes of JZ and Sister Marie.

#169

Posted by: Rixaeton Author Profile Page | February 5, 2011 9:02 AM

JZ(Mk3.1) cast a glance to his other JZ(Mk whatevers) selves. "Let’s face it, "he astutely put it to the group, "he got away."

Prof. Jane shook her head, her wavy hair tousled from the excessive ‘getting-to-know-you-again’ exercises, and also having cheated death, YET AGAIN, without even the satisfaction of getting a research grant approved.

"Listen to me, JZs, whatever your Mark, it is not as simple as pulling yourselves together. You have to admit that as clones you are, by definition, imperfectly adapted to this new combat environment. The assumption that the multiply-specialized JZ Marks would be enough was just that; an assumption. We all know that assumptions need to be challenged if the evidence of their success is not found through practical application of the theory. We have to admit we were wrong, and start again. Because being correct is more important than false self-congratulatory ignorance. We must go where the evidence takes us. Assumptions must be challenged, so we need to review the basis for your existence."

"In short, we need to find JZ-zero."

If the skies were overcast, a thunderclap would have resounded through at this point, but it wasn’t so it didn’t.

Marie turned to the JZ closest to her, bumping him pleasantly back approximately 17.2cm. "Where can we find zis Jay Zee-zeru?" she inquired.
JZ(Mk2.6) replied, "Last I heard, he was in Indonesia, doing his strident, strutting striding thing."

Fr. Jonah Grease, Esq. sniffed the smokey, soot-stained rubble. It was a recent conflagration. That much was certain. Not much of the secret temple remained, except the pile of stones that were once the central altar, and the gift shop at the entrance to the clearing. There’s nothing else for it, but to look under the altar. That would be the traditional thing to do.
Raising and turning over the blackened stones, he could just make out the graffiti scrawl on the holiest-of-holies. Although no living witnesses could testify to it, Fr. Jonah Grease, Esq. did smile on occasion. This was one of them. I know you were here. You just can’t help yourself, can you JZ? As best he could interpret, the message JZ left was:

Jeez. I've given you guys everything, all you need to do is pile up a bunch of … flesh [to work] out the plot.”

I have you now, JZ

#170

Posted by: Quodlibet Author Profile Page | February 5, 2011 9:11 AM

"a pilfered chickenosaurus"

...or a crocoduck?

#171

Posted by: Pacal Author Profile Page | February 5, 2011 9:13 AM

Although your writing contains such gems of $%%^^lt="Author Profile Page" src="http://scienceblogs.com/mt-static/images/comment/mt_logo.png" width="16" height="16" /> | February 5, 2011 8:41 AM

Hyperdeath:

JZ woke up on a hard stone floor. He opened his Tetraammine diaqua copper(II) blue eyes to reveal four solid walls.

Guy M:


JZ has GREY eyes, can't you read?

You're neglecting chapter 5, where The Cephalopod King switches the eyes of JZ and Sister Marie.

#169

Posted by: Rixaeton Author Profile Page | February 5, 2011 9:02 AM

JZ(Mk3.1) cast a glance to his other JZ(Mk whatevers) selves. "Let’s face it, "he astutely put it to the group, "he got away."

Prof. Jane shook her head, her wavy hair tousled from the excessive ‘getting-to-know-you-again’ exercises, and also having cheated death, YET AGAIN, without even the satisfaction of getting a research grant approved.

"Listen to me, JZs, whatever your Mark, it is not as simple as pulling yourselves together. You have to admit that as clones you are, by definition, imperfectly adapted to this new combat environment. The assumption that the multiply-specialized JZ Marks would be enough was just that; an assumption. We all know that assumptions need to be challenged if the evidence of their success is not found through practical application of the theory. We have to admit we were wrong, and start again. Because being correct is more important than false self-congratulatory ignorance. We must go where the evidence takes us. Assumptions must be challenged, so we need to review the basis for your existence."

"In short, we need to find JZ-zero."

If the skies were overcast, a thunderclap would have resounded through at this point, but it wasn’t so it didn’t.

Marie turned to the JZ closest to her, bumping him pleasantly back approximately 17.2cm. "Where can we find zis Jay Zee-zeru?" she inquired.
JZ(Mk2.6) replied, "Last I heard, he was in Indonesia, doing his strident, strutting striding thing."

Fr. Jonah Grease, Esq. sniffed the smokey, soot-stained rubble. It was a recent conflagration. That much was certain. Not much of the secret temple remained, except the pile of stones that were once the central altar, and the gift shop at the entrance to the clearing. There’s nothing else for it, but to look under the altar. That would be the traditional thing to do.
Raising and turning over the blackened stones, he could just make out the graffiti scrawl on the holiest-of-holies. Although no living witnesses could testify to it, Fr. Jonah Grease, Esq. did smile on occasion. This was one of them. I know you were here. You just can’t help yourself, can you JZ? As best he could interpret, the message JZ left was:

Jeez. I've given you guys everything, all you need to do is pile up a bunch of … flesh [to work] out the plot.”

I have you now, JZ

#170

Posted by: Quodlibet Author Profile Page | February 5, 2011 9:11 AM

"a pilfered chickenosaurus"

...or a crocoduck?

#171

Posted by: Pacal Author Profile Page | February 5, 2011 9:13 AM

Although your writing contains such gems of $%%^^="Author Profile Page" src="http://scienceblogs.com/mt-static/images/comment/mt_logo.png" width="16" height="16" /> | February 5, 2011 8:41 AM

Hyperdeath:

JZ woke up on a hard stone floor. He opened his Tetraammine diaqua copper(II) blue eyes to reveal four solid walls.

Guy M:


JZ has GREY eyes, can't you read?

You're neglecting chapter 5, where The Cephalopod King switches the eyes of JZ and Sister Marie.

#169

Posted by: Rixaeton Author Profile Page | February 5, 2011 9:02 AM

JZ(Mk3.1) cast a glance to his other JZ(Mk whatevers) selves. "Let’s face it, "he astutely put it to the group, "he got away."

Prof. Jane shook her head, her wavy hair tousled from the excessive ‘getting-to-know-you-again’ exercises, and also having cheated death, YET AGAIN, without even the satisfaction of getting a research grant approved.

"Listen to me, JZs, whatever your Mark, it is not as simple as pulling yourselves together. You have to admit that as clones you are, by definition, imperfectly adapted to this new combat environment. The assumption that the multiply-specialized JZ Marks would be enough was just that; an assumption. We all know that assumptions need to be challenged if the evidence of their success is not found through practical application of the theory. We have to admit we were wrong, and start again. Because being correct is more important than false self-congratulatory ignorance. We must go where the evidence takes us. Assumptions must be challenged, so we need to review the basis for your existence."

"In short, we need to find JZ-zero."

If the skies were overcast, a thunderclap would have resounded through at this point, but it wasn’t so it didn’t.

Marie turned to the JZ closest to her, bumping him pleasantly back approximately 17.2cm. "Where can we find zis Jay Zee-zeru?" she inquired.
JZ(Mk2.6) replied, "Last I heard, he was in Indonesia, doing his strident, strutting striding thing."

Fr. Jonah Grease, Esq. sniffed the smokey, soot-stained rubble. It was a recent conflagration. That much was certain. Not much of the secret temple remained, except the pile of stones that were once the central altar, and the gift shop at the entrance to the clearing. There’s nothing else for it, but to look under the altar. That would be the traditional thing to do.
Raising and turning over the blackened stones, he could just make out the graffiti scrawl on the holiest-of-holies. Although no living witnesses could testify to it, Fr. Jonah Grease, Esq. did smile on occasion. This was one of them. I know you were here. You just can’t help yourself, can you JZ? As best he could interpret, the message JZ left was:

Jeez. I've given you guys everything, all you need to do is pile up a bunch of … flesh [to work] out the plot.”

I have you now, JZ

#170

Posted by: Quodlibet Author Profile Page | February 5, 2011 9:11 AM

"a pilfered chickenosaurus"

...or a crocoduck?

#171

Posted by: Pacal Author Profile Page | February 5, 2011 9:13 AM

Although your writing contains such gems of $%%^^Author Profile Page" src="http://scienceblogs.com/mt-static/images/comment/mt_logo.png" width="16" height="16" /> | February 5, 2011 8:41 AM

Hyperdeath:

JZ woke up on a hard stone floor. He opened his Tetraammine diaqua copper(II) blue eyes to reveal four solid walls.

Guy M:


JZ has GREY eyes, can't you read?

You're neglecting chapter 5, where The Cephalopod King switches the eyes of JZ and Sister Marie.

#169

Posted by: Rixaeton Author Profile Page | February 5, 2011 9:02 AM

JZ(Mk3.1) cast a glance to his other JZ(Mk whatevers) selves. "Let’s face it, "he astutely put it to the group, "he got away."

Prof. Jane shook her head, her wavy hair tousled from the excessive ‘getting-to-know-you-again’ exercises, and also having cheated death, YET AGAIN, without even the satisfaction of getting a research grant approved.

"Listen to me, JZs, whatever your Mark, it is not as simple as pulling yourselves together. You have to admit that as clones you are, by definition, imperfectly adapted to this new combat environment. The assumption that the multiply-specialized JZ Marks would be enough was just that; an assumption. We all know that assumptions need to be challenged if the evidence of their success is not found through practical application of the theory. We have to admit we were wrong, and start again. Because being correct is more important than false self-congratulatory ignorance. We must go where the evidence takes us. Assumptions must be challenged, so we need to review the basis for your existence."

"In short, we need to find JZ-zero."

If the skies were overcast, a thunderclap would have resounded through at this point, but it wasn’t so it didn’t.

Marie turned to the JZ closest to her, bumping him pleasantly back approximately 17.2cm. "Where can we find zis Jay Zee-zeru?" she inquired.
JZ(Mk2.6) replied, "Last I heard, he was in Indonesia, doing his strident, strutting striding thing."

Fr. Jonah Grease, Esq. sniffed the smokey, soot-stained rubble. It was a recent conflagration. That much was certain. Not much of the secret temple remained, except the pile of stones that were once the central altar, and the gift shop at the entrance to the clearing. There’s nothing else for it, but to look under the altar. That would be the traditional thing to do.
Raising and turning over the blackened stones, he could just make out the graffiti scrawl on the holiest-of-holies. Although no living witnesses could testify to it, Fr. Jonah Grease, Esq. did smile on occasion. This was one of them. I know you were here. You just can’t help yourself, can you JZ? As best he could interpret, the message JZ left was:

Jeez. I've given you guys everything, all you need to do is pile up a bunch of … flesh [to work] out the plot.”

I have you now, JZ

#170

Posted by: Quodlibet Author Profile Page | February 5, 2011 9:11 AM

"a pilfered chickenosaurus"

...or a crocoduck?

#171

Posted by: Pacal Author Profile Page | February 5, 2011 9:13 AM

Although your writing contains such gems of $%%^^thor Profile Page" src="http://scienceblogs.com/mt-static/images/comment/mt_logo.png" width="16" height="16" /> | February 5, 2011 8:41 AM

Hyperdeath:

JZ woke up on a hard stone floor. He opened his Tetraammine diaqua copper(II) blue eyes to reveal four solid walls.

Guy M:


JZ has GREY eyes, can't you read?

You're neglecting chapter 5, where The Cephalopod King switches the eyes of JZ and Sister Marie.

#169

Posted by: Rixaeton Author Profile Page | February 5, 2011 9:02 AM

JZ(Mk3.1) cast a glance to his other JZ(Mk whatevers) selves. "Let’s face it, "he astutely put it to the group, "he got away."

Prof. Jane shook her head, her wavy hair tousled from the excessive ‘getting-to-know-you-again’ exercises, and also having cheated death, YET AGAIN, without even the satisfaction of getting a research grant approved.

"Listen to me, JZs, whatever your Mark, it is not as simple as pulling yourselves together. You have to admit that as clones you are, by definition, imperfectly adapted to this new combat environment. The assumption that the multiply-specialized JZ Marks would be enough was just that; an assumption. We all know that assumptions need to be challenged if the evidence of their success is not found through practical application of the theory. We have to admit we were wrong, and start again. Because being correct is more important than false self-congratulatory ignorance. We must go where the evidence takes us. Assumptions must be challenged, so we need to review the basis for your existence."

"In short, we need to find JZ-zero."

If the skies were overcast, a thunderclap would have resounded through at this point, but it wasn’t so it didn’t.

Marie turned to the JZ closest to her, bumping him pleasantly back approximately 17.2cm. "Where can we find zis Jay Zee-zeru?" she inquired.
JZ(Mk2.6) replied, "Last I heard, he was in Indonesia, doing his strident, strutting striding thing."

Fr. Jonah Grease, Esq. sniffed the smokey, soot-stained rubble. It was a recent conflagration. That much was certain. Not much of the secret temple remained, except the pile of stones that were once the central altar, and the gift shop at the entrance to the clearing. There’s nothing else for it, but to look under the altar. That would be the traditional thing to do.
Raising and turning over the blackened stones, he could just make out the graffiti scrawl on the holiest-of-holies. Although no living witnesses could testify to it, Fr. Jonah Grease, Esq. did smile on occasion. This was one of them. I know you were here. You just can’t help yourself, can you JZ? As best he could interpret, the message JZ left was:

Jeez. I've given you guys everything, all you need to do is pile up a bunch of … flesh [to work] out the plot.”

I have you now, JZ

#170

Posted by: Quodlibet Author Profile Page | February 5, 2011 9:11 AM

"a pilfered chickenosaurus"

...or a crocoduck?

#171

Posted by: Pacal Author Profile Page | February 5, 2011 9:13 AM

Although your writing contains such gems of $%%^^or Profile Page" src="http://scienceblogs.com/mt-static/images/comment/mt_logo.png" width="16" height="16" /> | February 5, 2011 8:41 AM

Hyperdeath:

JZ woke up on a hard stone floor. He opened his Tetraammine diaqua copper(II) blue eyes to reveal four solid walls.

Guy M:


JZ has GREY eyes, can't you read?

You're neglecting chapter 5, where The Cephalopod King switches the eyes of JZ and Sister Marie.

#169

Posted by: Rixaeton Author Profile Page | February 5, 2011 9:02 AM

JZ(Mk3.1) cast a glance to his other JZ(Mk whatevers) selves. "Let’s face it, "he astutely put it to the group, "he got away."

Prof. Jane shook her head, her wavy hair tousled from the excessive ‘getting-to-know-you-again’ exercises, and also having cheated death, YET AGAIN, without even the satisfaction of getting a research grant approved.

"Listen to me, JZs, whatever your Mark, it is not as simple as pulling yourselves together. You have to admit that as clones you are, by definition, imperfectly adapted to this new combat environment. The assumption that the multiply-specialized JZ Marks would be enough was just that; an assumption. We all know that assumptions need to be challenged if the evidence of their success is not found through practical application of the theory. We have to admit we were wrong, and start again. Because being correct is more important than false self-congratulatory ignorance. We must go where the evidence takes us. Assumptions must be challenged, so we need to review the basis for your existence."

"In short, we need to find JZ-zero."

If the skies were overcast, a thunderclap would have resounded through at this point, but it wasn’t so it didn’t.

Marie turned to the JZ closest to her, bumping him pleasantly back approximately 17.2cm. "Where can we find zis Jay Zee-zeru?" she inquired.
JZ(Mk2.6) replied, "Last I heard, he was in Indonesia, doing his strident, strutting striding thing."

Fr. Jonah Grease, Esq. sniffed the smokey, soot-stained rubble. It was a recent conflagration. That much was certain. Not much of the secret temple remained, except the pile of stones that were once the central altar, and the gift shop at the entrance to the clearing. There’s nothing else for it, but to look under the altar. That would be the traditional thing to do.
Raising and turning over the blackened stones, he could just make out the graffiti scrawl on the holiest-of-holies. Although no living witnesses could testify to it, Fr. Jonah Grease, Esq. did smile on occasion. This was one of them. I know you were here. You just can’t help yourself, can you JZ? As best he could interpret, the message JZ left was:

Jeez. I've given you guys everything, all you need to do is pile up a bunch of … flesh [to work] out the plot.”

I have you now, JZ

#170

Posted by: Quodlibet Author Profile Page | February 5, 2011 9:11 AM

"a pilfered chickenosaurus"

...or a crocoduck?

#171

Posted by: Pacal Author Profile Page | February 5, 2011 9:13 AM

Although your writing contains such gems of $%%^^ Profile Page" src="http://scienceblogs.com/mt-static/images/comment/mt_logo.png" width="16" height="16" /> | February 5, 2011 8:41 AM

Hyperdeath:

JZ woke up on a hard stone floor. He opened his Tetraammine diaqua copper(II) blue eyes to reveal four solid walls.

Guy M:


JZ has GREY eyes, can't you read?

You're neglecting chapter 5, where The Cephalopod King switches the eyes of JZ and Sister Marie.

#169

Posted by: Rixaeton Author Profile Page | February 5, 2011 9:02 AM

JZ(Mk3.1) cast a glance to his other JZ(Mk whatevers) selves. "Let’s face it, "he astutely put it to the group, "he got away."

Prof. Jane shook her head, her wavy hair tousled from the excessive ‘getting-to-know-you-again’ exercises, and also having cheated death, YET AGAIN, without even the satisfaction of getting a research grant approved.

"Listen to me, JZs, whatever your Mark, it is not as simple as pulling yourselves together. You have to admit that as clones you are, by definition, imperfectly adapted to this new combat environment. The assumption that the multiply-specialized JZ Marks would be enough was just that; an assumption. We all know that assumptions need to be challenged if the evidence of their success is not found through practical application of the theory. We have to admit we were wrong, and start again. Because being correct is more important than false self-congratulatory ignorance. We must go where the evidence takes us. Assumptions must be challenged, so we need to review the basis for your existence."

"In short, we need to find JZ-zero."

If the skies were overcast, a thunderclap would have resounded through at this point, but it wasn’t so it didn’t.

Marie turned to the JZ closest to her, bumping him pleasantly back approximately 17.2cm. "Where can we find zis Jay Zee-zeru?" she inquired.
JZ(Mk2.6) replied, "Last I heard, he was in Indonesia, doing his strident, strutting striding thing."

Fr. Jonah Grease, Esq. sniffed the smokey, soot-stained rubble. It was a recent conflagration. That much was certain. Not much of the secret temple remained, except the pile of stones that were once the central altar, and the gift shop at the entrance to the clearing. There’s nothing else for it, but to look under the altar. That would be the traditional thing to do.
Raising and turning over the blackened stones, he could just make out the graffiti scrawl on the holiest-of-holies. Although no living witnesses could testify to it, Fr. Jonah Grease, Esq. did smile on occasion. This was one of them. I know you were here. You just can’t help yourself, can you JZ? As best he could interpret, the message JZ left was:

Jeez. I've given you guys everything, all you need to do is pile up a bunch of … flesh [to work] out the plot.”

I have you now, JZ

#170

Posted by: Quodlibet Author Profile Page | February 5, 2011 9:11 AM

"a pilfered chickenosaurus"

...or a crocoduck?

#171

Posted by: Pacal Author Profile Page | February 5, 2011 9:13 AM

Although your writing contains such gems of $%%^^rofile Page" src="http://scienceblogs.com/mt-static/images/comment/mt_logo.png" width="16" height="16" /> | February 5, 2011 8:41 AM

Hyperdeath:

JZ woke up on a hard stone floor. He opened his Tetraammine diaqua copper(II) blue eyes to reveal four solid walls.

Guy M:


JZ has GREY eyes, can't you read?

You're neglecting chapter 5, where The Cephalopod King switches the eyes of JZ and Sister Marie.

#169

Posted by: Rixaeton Author Profile Page | February 5, 2011 9:02 AM

JZ(Mk3.1) cast a glance to his other JZ(Mk whatevers) selves. "Let’s face it, "he astutely put it to the group, "he got away."

Prof. Jane shook her head, her wavy hair tousled from the excessive ‘getting-to-know-you-again’ exercises, and also having cheated death, YET AGAIN, without even the satisfaction of getting a research grant approved.

"Listen to me, JZs, whatever your Mark, it is not as simple as pulling yourselves together. You have to admit that as clones you are, by definition, imperfectly adapted to this new combat environment. The assumption that the multiply-specialized JZ Marks would be enough was just that; an assumption. We all know that assumptions need to be challenged if the evidence of their success is not found through practical application of the theory. We have to admit we were wrong, and start again. Because being correct is more important than false self-congratulatory ignorance. We must go where the evidence takes us. Assumptions must be challenged, so we need to review the basis for your existence."

"In short, we need to find JZ-zero."

If the skies were overcast, a thunderclap would have resounded through at this point, but it wasn’t so it didn’t.

Marie turned to the JZ closest to her, bumping him pleasantly back approximately 17.2cm. "Where can we find zis Jay Zee-zeru?" she inquired.
JZ(Mk2.6) replied, "Last I heard, he was in Indonesia, doing his strident, strutting striding thing."

Fr. Jonah Grease, Esq. sniffed the smokey, soot-stained rubble. It was a recent conflagration. That much was certain. Not much of the secret temple remained, except the pile of stones that were once the central altar, and the gift shop at the entrance to the clearing. There’s nothing else for it, but to look under the altar. That would be the traditional thing to do.
Raising and turning over the blackened stones, he could just make out the graffiti scrawl on the holiest-of-holies. Although no living witnesses could testify to it, Fr. Jonah Grease, Esq. did smile on occasion. This was one of them. I know you were here. You just can’t help yourself, can you JZ? As best he could interpret, the message JZ left was:

Jeez. I've given you guys everything, all you need to do is pile up a bunch of … flesh [to work] out the plot.”

I have you now, JZ

#170

Posted by: Quodlibet Author Profile Page | February 5, 2011 9:11 AM

"a pilfered chickenosaurus"

...or a crocoduck?

#171

Posted by: Pacal Author Profile Page | February 5, 2011 9:13 AM

Although your writing contains such gems of $%%^^file Page" src="http://scienceblogs.com/mt-static/images/comment/mt_logo.png" width="16" height="16" /> | February 5, 2011 8:41 AM

Hyperdeath:

JZ woke up on a hard stone floor. He opened his Tetraammine diaqua copper(II) blue eyes to reveal four solid walls.

Guy M:


JZ has GREY eyes, can't you read?

You're neglecting chapter 5, where The Cephalopod King switches the eyes of JZ and Sister Marie.

#169

Posted by: Rixaeton Author Profile Page | February 5, 2011 9:02 AM

JZ(Mk3.1) cast a glance to his other JZ(Mk whatevers) selves. "Let’s face it, "he astutely put it to the group, "he got away."

Prof. Jane shook her head, her wavy hair tousled from the excessive ‘getting-to-know-you-again’ exercises, and also having cheated death, YET AGAIN, without even the satisfaction of getting a research grant approved.

"Listen to me, JZs, whatever your Mark, it is not as simple as pulling yourselves together. You have to admit that as clones you are, by definition, imperfectly adapted to this new combat environment. The assumption that the multiply-specialized JZ Marks would be enough was just that; an assumption. We all know that assumptions need to be challenged if the evidence of their success is not found through practical application of the theory. We have to admit we were wrong, and start again. Because being correct is more important than false self-congratulatory ignorance. We must go where the evidence takes us. Assumptions must be challenged, so we need to review the basis for your existence."

"In short, we need to find JZ-zero."

If the skies were overcast, a thunderclap would have resounded through at this point, but it wasn’t so it didn’t.

Marie turned to the JZ closest to her, bumping him pleasantly back approximately 17.2cm. "Where can we find zis Jay Zee-zeru?" she inquired.
JZ(Mk2.6) replied, "Last I heard, he was in Indonesia, doing his strident, strutting striding thing."

Fr. Jonah Grease, Esq. sniffed the smokey, soot-stained rubble. It was a recent conflagration. That much was certain. Not much of the secret temple remained, except the pile of stones that were once the central altar, and the gift shop at the entrance to the clearing. There’s nothing else for it, but to look under the altar. That would be the traditional thing to do.
Raising and turning over the blackened stones, he could just make out the graffiti scrawl on the holiest-of-holies. Although no living witnesses could testify to it, Fr. Jonah Grease, Esq. did smile on occasion. This was one of them. I know you were here. You just can’t help yourself, can you JZ? As best he could interpret, the message JZ left was:

Jeez. I've given you guys everything, all you need to do is pile up a bunch of … flesh [to work] out the plot.”

I have you now, JZ

#170

Posted by: Quodlibet Author Profile Page | February 5, 2011 9:11 AM

"a pilfered chickenosaurus"

...or a crocoduck?

#171

Posted by: Pacal Author Profile Page | February 5, 2011 9:13 AM

Although your writing contains such gems of $%%^^le Page" src="http://scienceblogs.com/mt-static/images/comment/mt_logo.png" width="16" height="16" /> | February 5, 2011 8:41 AM

Hyperdeath:

JZ woke up on a hard stone floor. He opened his Tetraammine diaqua copper(II) blue eyes to reveal four solid walls.

Guy M:


JZ has GREY eyes, can't you read?

You're neglecting chapter 5, where The Cephalopod King switches the eyes of JZ and Sister Marie.

#169

Posted by: Rixaeton Author Profile Page | February 5, 2011 9:02 AM

JZ(Mk3.1) cast a glance to his other JZ(Mk whatevers) selves. "Let’s face it, "he astutely put it to the group, "he got away."

Prof. Jane shook her head, her wavy hair tousled from the excessive ‘getting-to-know-you-again’ exercises, and also having cheated death, YET AGAIN, without even the satisfaction of getting a research grant approved.

"Listen to me, JZs, whatever your Mark, it is not as simple as pulling yourselves together. You have to admit that as clones you are, by definition, imperfectly adapted to this new combat environment. The assumption that the multiply-specialized JZ Marks would be enough was just that; an assumption. We all know that assumptions need to be challenged if the evidence of their success is not found through practical application of the theory. We have to admit we were wrong, and start again. Because being correct is more important than false self-congratulatory ignorance. We must go where the evidence takes us. Assumptions must be challenged, so we need to review the basis for your existence."

"In short, we need to find JZ-zero."

If the skies were overcast, a thunderclap would have resounded through at this point, but it wasn’t so it didn’t.

Marie turned to the JZ closest to her, bumping him pleasantly back approximately 17.2cm. "Where can we find zis Jay Zee-zeru?" she inquired.
JZ(Mk2.6) replied, "Last I heard, he was in Indonesia, doing his strident, strutting striding thing."

Fr. Jonah Grease, Esq. sniffed the smokey, soot-stained rubble. It was a recent conflagration. That much was certain. Not much of the secret temple remained, except the pile of stones that were once the central altar, and the gift shop at the entrance to the clearing. There’s nothing else for it, but to look under the altar. That would be the traditional thing to do.
Raising and turning over the blackened stones, he could just make out the graffiti scrawl on the holiest-of-holies. Although no living witnesses could testify to it, Fr. Jonah Grease, Esq. did smile on occasion. This was one of them. I know you were here. You just can’t help yourself, can you JZ? As best he could interpret, the message JZ left was:

Jeez. I've given you guys everything, all you need to do is pile up a bunch of … flesh [to work] out the plot.”

I have you now, JZ

#170

Posted by: Quodlibet Author Profile Page | February 5, 2011 9:11 AM

"a pilfered chickenosaurus"

...or a crocoduck?

#171

Posted by: Pacal Author Profile Page | February 5, 2011 9:13 AM

Although your writing contains such gems of $%%^^ P