"Only one of you may leave with the Cheetos, and the girl!" Shouted a Vorticon ninja into a microphone. Music came on and video cameras rolled up. "Now it's time to play 'Who Do Ya Choose?'!"
It seemed as though Mark and Magnus were on a Vorticon reality or game show. They both looked at each other very confused. The girl with Cheetos said: "I just can't..."
Their highs chool girlfriend, now a vet, was saying, "Hands off, you alien jerks!"
"OOOOHH, a feisty one, huh? Well, who do ya choose!?"
"Ah can't decide...too much pressure...besides, Ah'm over both of them now! Ah have a fiance!" she shouted, pointing to her engagement ring. "He's going to be looking for lil' ol me!"
Mark shouted, "Take me instead!"
"OK then," the Vorticon Ninja shouted with a wicked glee. "Give the girl back to the whale eater here," pointing at Magnus. "We'll let Mark go in Iceland - in the buff! As for Magnus, he's going to go to Waikiki, in Hawaii."
Mark had another Tourette's outburst, as he was dragged off naked into the village of Isafjordhur, on the north-west coast of Iceland.
"I hope you can take the cold, Mark! Who'd 've thought--me go to your birthplace, and you go to my birthplace!"
As Mark was let go in Isafjordhur, he was more confused and angry than ever. Sure, Cheetos were there in Iceland, but they were uber-expensive. Mark began to tear up. He thought about THE ULTIMATE CHEETO. He knew it was only a legend, but if the legend was true it would give its possessor the power to control time, with only a slight after taste.
Legend has it that the ultimate cheeto was made from three rocks that broke away from the moon, one rock came down before the turn of the century, the second, during the turn of the century and the third, after the turn of the century. The Cheeto was so powerful that it is said that its maker couldn't control its power, either that or he was allergic to dairy products.
Suddenly Mark tripped over a huge orange crescent shaped rock. Mark looked back, and stared at the massive Cheeto. "IT'S THE ULTIMATE CHEETO!" Mark bit down hard, and reeled back as he chipped a tooth. "MAN that thing's stale!" he grumbled, and reached for the stars, screaming, "Why do you taunt me so!?" Sighing, he slipped the huge crescent shaped rock into his back pocket and returned to the situation at hand.
"Now what?" he asked himself.
"Now you continue your quest for THE ULTIMATE CHEETO," a voice replied.
"Oh, great. I've gotta stop going on these wacky adventures. Now I'm hearing voices."
Just then a hand fell on his shoulder. Reeling around, and emitting a loud, whirring scream, he found himself being slapped stupid.
"Shut up! Shut up! Stop screaming!" screamed the stranger.
"Mark... I am your father." The voice was coming from inside a house. Mark knocked on the door, and it was a middle-aged man, with greasy Cheetoes in his beard. "Mark, it's me, your daddy!"
"Pffft, yeah right, how can an Icelander be my father!?"
"I'm no Icelander," the old man said, in a bad Californian accent. "How I ended up here was different: that fatso known as the Fat Baron put me here after I had gone out to the bar to get some Cheetos and some beer. Alcohol is expensive out here, and so are the Cheetos!"
"Yeah, tell me about it," Mark said, who nearly collapsed of hypothermia from standing outside naked.
"Come in and get some clothes," his father said, as Mark walked in, invited by a friendly gesture.
As soon as he entered the room, he sensed that something was wrong. There were an excess of empty beer cans, but no Cheetos in sight. "Dad?" Inquired Mark in a confused voice. The man ripped off his rubber mask to reveal himself as none other than a guy in a beret who smelt like escargot.
"I have you now, zat is for sure, ja?" said the guy in the beret.
Mark said, "Warum bist du in Island?" (Why are you in Iceland?)
"Ich bin ein Arbeiter fur die Dick Junker!" (I am a worker for the Fat Baron!)
Mark started having a Tourette's outburst, when he was netted by malevolent green squid-creatures. He barely even struggled as they dragged him down to their secret lair.
"We will take you to our leader," they proclaimed. "But first, you must pass the 'Test of the Fish'. Never mind that you're not a fish."
They led him into another room (after giving him some breathing gear), and there he saw a giant pink antelope.
After dispatching the creature with his air tank, Mark quickly realised that he had no air. After drowning Mark woke up and saw of all people, Magnus!?
"What are you doing here, you whale-eating git?" Mark shouted in anger.
"Whale-eating?"
"Ah, forget it," Mark said. "Let's get back Stateside, there we can fight the Fat Baron!"
"That's what I was here to tell you about - the Fat Baron is planning to take over the world!"
"With what?"
"Well, all I know is that my Björk albums were stolen by a man wearing lederhosen - one of the Fat Baron's men...I believe he is going to use them to take over the world!"
Suddenly, the song 'It's All So Quiet' broke out. Most people covered their ears, but Magnus was humming and singing. Mark turned to notice a dark and evil presence lurking in the doorway. It held up a record album, grinned evilly, and vanished in a puff of unwholesome smoke.
He coughed, and was blinded momentarily by all of the smoke. When he finally managed to see again, he noticed that the whole room had changed, and the person standing in front of him now looked like she needed a facelift, stat! Calling upon skills he learned many years ago when he sleep-walked into a salon, he set about locating a hammer and an ice pick.
"Does anyone have an eski?" he called out. The only response was a lone cricket chirping in the corner of the room, and even that sounded rather eerie. "Well, how about a bucket?"
By now, his hapless subject had vanished into the darkness beyond the doorway. In her stead now stood a leprechaun, singing the You've Got No Eski Song.
No eski do you have.
Do you have eski? No.
If you want an eski,
Talk to Ca--
Just then, the leprechaun died a hurried, overly dramatised death. Mark broke out into a coughing fit, while the solo from Eat Your Veggies played in the background. "Okay that does it!" said Mark. Pulling out a Villian Technologies™ C17 Series Atomizer, (© 2003) he rapidly reduced his surrounding and everyone in them to a small pile of ash.
Suddenly he felt the barrel of a Vorticon rail gun pressed to his neck. "That was quite a good show " said somebody wearing a bright green hood pulled over their face. They sounded as if they were wearing a breathing apparatus. "But it is all up for you know." They squeezed the trigger, and Mark was launched forwards onto the floor. Apart from a stabbing pain in his neck and the usual self-induced broken ankle, he felt fine.
Climbing to his feet, Mark reached around the back of his neck and pulled something out--a novelty "BANG!" flag.
"Psyche!" called the stranger from behind him, now stepping into the light. "Ow! Dammit! My eyes!"
Mark turned around to see, of all people, Mortimer McMire.
"YOU'RE REALLY MORTIMER MCMIRE!?!?!" Mark shouted.
"Yup, mental wimp," Mortimer said, in a girly voice.
"Hmmm...I didn't know that about you..." Mark said, putting his back to the wall. "Obviously you're not the real Mortimer McMire," Mark said, ripping off the helmet, revealing it was attached to a mask. It was Molly Mcmire! However, this Molly McMire looked different. She was older than the real Molly McMire, about 27. She was dressed in a black catsuit with the white logo "CTB" inside an hourglass logo. The motto was "Tempus Fugit".
"Actually, I'm not Molly McMire, I'm Stephanie Muller, Chronological Travel Bureau. How would you like to travel forward in time?" the Molly look-alike asked. "I was chosen since you are the biggest fan of Commander Keen."
"You're going to send me forward in time!?" Mark jumped and clapped his hands in delight.
"Well, let's go!" Stephanie said, bustling Mark into a DeLorean. Co-ordinates set for the 22nd Century.
When they went through the time tunnel, they emerged into a future city. The cops, on hoverbikes, started chasing the DeLorean for exceeding the speed limit. A few expensive tickets later, Stephanie Muller said to Mark "Actually, the real reason I brought you here is to stop this."
Mark looked at the iD software building in total horror. "No," he said. "The final Commander Keen episode can't be called 'Commander Keen IX: Vince McMahon's Great Game'!!!"
Mark later learnt from a newspaper (more of a news-web page), with this title: BODY SLAM ON ID.
Vince McMahon III has taken over iD Software, especially its new label, Commander Keen, in order to fight profit downturns. The game has been re-made into a wrestling game. The Society Against Schlock are demanding an end to McMahon's corporation, the WWWE, the last vestige of the Age of Schlock, that infamous time of cultural degradation in the late 20th and much of the 21st Century.
It went on to describe information about the corporate takeover. Another headline grabbed attention on Page 3. "The Björk Guðmundsdóttir Centre has opened in down-town Newport City."
Mark reacted violently, shoving pieces of lint from his pocket up his nose and demanding Stephanie take him to the nearest Cheetos outlet.
"Cheetos? What's a Cheeto?"
Mark was beyond dumbfounded. In fact, not even the 22nd century had a word for Mark's reaction. One could almost see his frontal lobe peeling back and spilling out his ears, followed by his liver, kidneys and spleen. Of course, one would have to be watching very closely.
"I need to sit down for a minute," Mark said absently, opening the door of the DeLorean.
"What are you doing!?" shouted Stephanie.
Mark started having a Tourettes outburst. "AAARGGH...GREEEAK...YOU [intercourse] [female dog]!"
Stephanie exclaimed, "Oh my, that's no way to behave," and injected something into Mark using a hypospray. He immediately calmed down.
"I've got to find out what happened to the Cheetos!" Mark yelled.
"Excuse me? But, pray tell, what is a Cheeto?" Stephanie answered.
"It's a little round snack. Tastes like cheese, only a bit more artificially tasty."
"Artificial?"
"Never mind," Mark said, "get me to the library of history! I reckon the Fat Baron has something to do with the loss of all Cheetos!"
Mark found out that all cheetos had been destroyed by Komandant Milt, a.k.a CommanderSpleen III, in 2022. "This madman must be stopped!" said Mark "Or has been stopped, or hasn't?"
Acting quickly Mark auctioned off his liver and travelled to 2022. Imagine his shock when, upon leaving the time machine he came face to face with the cast and crew of Velocity Crime, that was noted in Stephanie's history book as this:
Velocity Crime was a show that was at its peak during the 2020s, 2030s, but whose cancellation in the mid 2050s soon after the Bio-Plagues led to the events that ended the Age of Schlock. The objective of the show was to commit misdemeanours, thefts, burglaries and arson as fast as possible, with losing contestants being turned into the police for a swift execution - it was not unknown for other contestants to be killed as well.
Often, the film ended with a spectacular car-chase, and cars with guns strapped on reminiscient of post-apocalyptic fiction were often used in the car chase scenes. In the latter periods, when food was scarce and deaths were numerous, even murder was permitted.
It was invented by the People's Republic of China as a method of population control and entertainment, but spread to other countries with population problems. Apparently, a man by the name of Kommadant Milt, as his debuting crime, he destroyed all of a type of round, artificial snack. Some theorise that the presence of these snacks could have saved billions from starvation during the World Famine Crisis, where even Western countries starved. He was led on to perform numerous arson attacks which killed dozens.
Overall, during Kommadant Milt's career, his total kill ratio was 3,250 people. Overall, Velocity Crime was the most schlocky show ever, as well as being grossly immoral.
So, Mark knew he really had to stop Kommadant Milt from destroying all the Cheetos and to save these people! Mark jumped into his transdimensional waping device and wapped to the PCKF dimension. Upon arrival Mark found himself in front of two large buildings. One was a gigantic spleen, golden in hue and glorious to behold despite the many aeons of dust and neglect covering it. The other was a giant milt, dark and foreboding, a slick oily black, surrounded by dark clouds and evil.
"Hey!"
Mark turned and saw, CommanderSpleen, recognisable by the $5 op-shop suit jacket and a constant muttering of almost obscene jibberish, hanging upside down from an overhanging tree branch above, typing furiously before what must have been a 62" screen embedded upside down into a clifface about five metres away.
From here, Mark could see the PCKF in all its semi-holographic glory. Spleen was apparently typing a message: "Re: Hmm... it's raining again."
"Hey, Spleen!" Mark shouted. He noticed a gnarled figure, disturbingly reminiscent of Princess Lindsey, near the foot of the cliff, curled up into a ball, rocking and muttering, "They can't limit me... show them all... not a spammer..."
Commander Spleen hadn't responded. The mutterings grew louder and more frequent. The typing became more furious as the moments passed until all that could be heard was a low drone of intermingled clicking sounds projecting from the keyboard.
Mark walked over to the Princess Lindsey replica, reached an arm onto her shoulder and said, "LevelLord?"
"Aiieeeeeee!" she wailed. Mark stepped back suddenly, only to be startled by a strangely familiar voice behind him.
"Garg it! What are you doing to LevelLord?" Mark spun around, only to see staring back at him...
"KeenRush!?" Mark started to back away, wondering what he had gotten himself into now. The ground opened up behind him, and he plummeted for several feet before falling onto a metal-plated surface.
At first he couldn't see anything because it was so dark, but when his eyes adjusted, he saw a black circle of shadowy figures. Levellord stood up from where she had fallen. Mark gasped, the former beauty queen now stood hunched before him, haggard and dishevelled, thin as a rake and ugly as a baboons rear. Her usual torrent of loud-mouthed commentary had been reduced to a mindless babbling.
"We got the boy for you, Master! We was good we was. We went up to the light to gets him. He'll destroy Milt won't he, Master?" The tallest figure spoke: "Indeed, Level. Here's your reward." The figure tossed a small glowing square with the letters 're' on it into a corner. Levellord scuttled after it mumbling joyfully. Mark recognised the object as a post.
The figures all moved forward. Mark could see that they were all horribly disfigured, and each bore the number 8 on their foreheads. Mark gasped. "Unfleexable?" The former Spam lord stood before him, seven feet of solid alien, his arthropodic skin gleaming in the dim light. he was an impressive sight to behold despite the Djaser-scars covering his face.
Fleex spoke: "Ah, Mark. I wondered when you'd get here. I see you've met the Post Lord KeenRush, and Milt's mind slave Spleen. We seem to both be after the same goal here, Mark. I'll be brief; you kill KeenRush, I'll kill Milt. Any questions?"
"Yeah," said Mark. "Just one thing. You must face he who has suffered a worse fate than the 8-Post Limit Curse..."
Mark got sucked into a vortex, into the Hotel Dimension. Wandering through the halls, he then noticed a room entitled "Social Room". A little voice told Mark he may find Keenrush there.
Opening the door, there was a room with a pool table, doors and a TV.
"So...where the heck is Keenrush?" Mark shouted.
"Please...stay away..." an Australian-accented, but slightly British-sounding, voice said.
"Who's that!?"
From a corner emerged a dazed, confused young man. His once brilliant blue-green eyes had been dulled, his once healthy skin turned a pallor. He was wearing homeboyish clothing, but something was tucked away.
"Please, keep away!" the boy shouted.
"Who are you?" Mark shouted.
"Ah, bloody hell, not so [censored] loud!" the boy shouted. "Just, stay away! Unless you want to suffer the curse..."
"What curse?" Mark inquired.
"THE CURSE! I am NephariteofIlian, but now I am no ordinary man, I was cursed to transform, when I don't drink enough Pepsi into something else..."
"What?"
"I am a Were-Björk," the boy said.
"A were-what?" Mark shouted.
Suddenly, the boy crouched in pain. "THIS IS THE EVIDENCE!!!" he shouted, revealing a closet filled with weird clothing - of the sort that a certain female Icelandic singer would wear. "I haven't drunk a Pepsi in days! Now look what is happening! Milt did this to me! Don't let him do it to you!"
Crouching in pain, NephariteofIlian slowly morphed and changed into an elfin female, black-haired and of a distinct appearance, not especially attractive, but of a distinct charm. "Please...save me...destroy Milt..." His voice was cut off, the Australian twang submerged by a half-Scandinavian, half-Cockney feminine voice. He - or rather the Were-Björk he had now become, said, "Woot! 'Re' tag! geben geben geben!" Mark watched him/her/it run off with disdain.
Mark climbed out of the sunken pit with caution. Spleen was still there, muttering incoherently, maybe he could be of help. "Hey, Spleen!" Mark yelled, "I need to defeat KeenRush, can you help me?" Spleen bounded over, "I like pie!" he exclaimed. "Oh, yeah," said Mark "The mindslave thing."
Having picked up a candidate for the insane asylum, Mark Marched off to destroy KeenRush. He wasn't hard to find, the large grey dome with the capital 'K' on top was a dead giveaway, as were the rotting bodies of fallen spammers (and a few trolls) lying along the path.
Mark entered. "So you're the pitiful fool Fleex sent? Ha! Eat poll vermin!" Mark dodged as dozens of poles flew towards him, embedding themselves into the ground. Spleen wasn't so lucky, one impaled him into the wall. "Dying tickles!" he gasped.
"Noooooo!" yelled Mark. Filled with rage and bile Marks' common sense deserted him. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his most powerful weapon, something he had decided against using up until now no matter what. Something so destructive it could destroy all of existence.
Something more powerful than his Villain Technologies plasma cannon.
Something more dangerous than a charging Fleex.
Something more awesome than a really awesome thing.
* Gasp * choked KeenRush. "Not the Universe-o-Toaster!"
"Yes it is, straight from the private dash of Mortimer McMire!" Mark replied, his voice getting a creepy tune. Soon he started laughing.
"Um.. What?" KeenRush clumsily replied.
"That's right mister 314. "Cause you have 'Keen' in your name, you must be Commander Keen. You really thought that stupid name change would help you to hide?"
"But.. But.."
"Don't play with me punk, I know all about you. Molly probably didn't told you ever who she was dating.."
"Um, excuse me sir, in case you haven't read the official Keen stories, Keen is 8 years old, or was at least was in 1990. I'm 16 and 17 really soon and Keen's some years older than me and -- AARGh, nooo!!"
Mark had shot KeenRush with a stunner he had on his other pocket.
KeenRush knew there was nothing to do anymore. He felt his consciousness disappear. The last thing he managed to do before it went all black was to hit a big red button behind him. There read 'GARG RELEASE' in the button.
Mark heard Björk singing 'Hunter'. Apparently, it had a bad effect on the Gargs, causing them to scatter and run off rampaging through the PCKF dimension.
"Is that you Magnus, playing those Björk CDs?"
"Why no," said the Were-Björk. "A hearty Re-Tag to you," she said, still in a half-Scandinavian, half-Cockney accent,
"Is that you Neph?"
"Why yes, but in a much more beautiful and harmonious form!" she said, "Clank, bang, boom, you will hear my music!"
"NephariteofIlian, snap out of it!" Mark shouted, shaking the Were-Björk NephariteofIlian.
Suddenly, the Were-Björk did something totally unexpected - she kissed him on the lips and then bit his forearm, infecting Mark with the Were-Björk curse.
"Well, my master, I have infected another one," said the Were-Björk NephariteofIlian, joyfully.
"Excellent," a voice boomed from the corner. "We have another servant of the Miltian Empire!"
Suddenly, Mark began to itch terribly, like a terrible case of jock itch. He felt his insides twisting, his bones crunching, like a growing pain but from his large frame shrinking, his body reassembling into the form of a were-Björk. He had another Tourette's outburst as dancing. The dance of death.
He knew once he started he would dance to Bjork until his mind was completely taken over by it. Already an Icelandic complexion was beginning to show on his arms. He could see ahead of him the leering figure of Kommandant Milt, along with the strangely attractive figure of NephariteofIlian\Bjork. He felt his willpower failing. There was only one thing he could do.
"Going for the ol' universe destroyer?" Milt mocked, plucking it from Marks grasp, "Thankyou so much for bringing it to me."
A shadow crossed Milts' face. He levitated off the floor. "Where Mort failed I will succeed! I will destroy the universe and shape it in my image! I will be God!"
Mark choked, dozens more were-Bjorks had emerged from the shadows, all wailing to the inscesant music. "All that remains," boomed Milt "is to absorb my good side... Spleen!" Milt headed toward the struggling figure, tendrils of liver reaching out to engulf him.
Mark made the decision. "Hey, Milt!" he spluttered. "The weapon I told 'Rush about was this!" Mark pulled out the Infinite Odd Drive and powered it up.
"2:1 against and rising." it intoned.
"That?" Milt screeched. "That pink Cheeto like object?" [4:1 against] "You are going to stop me with snack food?" [32:1 against] "When I rule the universe all will replace all Cheetos with Bjork albums! Don't make me laugh!" [2048:1 against]
With these words he fired the Universe-o-Toaster. At that moment it did something very improbable, it didn't work. [2^50:1 against] "Eat probability!" Mark yelled. The infinite odd drive was beeping faster now. [2^235:1 against] Strange things started to happen, KeenRush became a giant swordfish, Bjork sprouted pansies from its mouth, the floor exploded and the highest prime number stripped in front of Milt.
There was a terrible burst of noise and light The universe began splitting into a million improbable directions. In desperation Mark pushed the off button.
There was a terrible burst of noise and light.
Mark awoke. He was still in KR's lair, but the terrible forces of probability had worked their horrible course. The walls were festooned with carp, TUIT had been produced as a Mario fan game, Spleen had two purple heads. Mark looked at himself and saw with horror that he had been transformed into a cane toad! Mark had been transformed into a cane toad, and stood by as a helpless observer. Kommandant Milt was laughing at his handiwork, revealing his true form - a darkly handsome French-looking angel with black-feathered wings.
"Ah, so zee handy work is complete, non?" Kommandant Milt said in his French accent. He glared and stared at his new creation, the Were-Björk NephariteofIlian. "And our zorn in our side has been turned into zee least of creatures - zee cane toad."
"No, I will be the ruler of this realm!" Were-Björk NephariteofIlian declared. She thrust a bolt of dark energy into Kommandant Milt's side, and he dissolved. However, the force of the explosion caused the scene to change - the PCKF forum reverted to normal.
"So, little Mark," Were-Björk NephariteofIlian said to the little cane-toad Mark. "You will be restored to your original form." She concentrated, singing a magic song in Old Norse, and he was reverted to normal. Mark was his normal self, and the PCKF forum was restored to its normal self.
"What!?" Were-Björk NephariteofIlian shouted. "What happened to all the Were-Björks?"
Then, someone showed up--it was the real Björk, with a can of Pepsi in her hand. Hustling a group of bouncers, she forced the Pepsi down the Were-Björk's throat, and it reverted back to NephariteofIlian's normal self.
"Wha...how did I get here..." NephariteofIlian, now his normal self, said. "This is all a weird dream, right?"
Björk screeched at NephariteofIlian, "MAKE SURE YOU DRINK A PEPSI, ONE A DAY, FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE! I CAN'T AFFORD TO HAVE THIS SPECTACLE RUIN ME!"
NephariteofIlian said, "Will do."
"Unfortunately," a booming voice said. "Both you and NephariteofIlian are stuck with the Curse, and there is nothing I can do about it. I have already expended my power curing the other Were-Björks - besides, I think it should be a lesson in humility for Neph, and also an essential for you, Mark - for though you have the Curse of Were-Björkism, you can control yours."
"Who's that?" Mark questioned.
It was Spleen's shade, a resplendent, golden hue. "The damage will heal in time. Make sure that NephariteofIlian gets his Pepsi - I cannot be held accountable for any damage if that Were-Björk identity gets out again. In the meanwhile, I will go to Sindri, the Hall of Rewarded Posters, and reside in the company of such great minds as A.R. However. as for Milt, he will reside forever in the halls of Nastrond, the Hall of Dark Posting, where he will be tortured by poison dripping from serpents, and the insistent playing of ABBA music."
Mark said, "Sounds right to me."
"NephariteofIlian will go back to the real world to recuperate, and as for Levellord, I have removed her 8-Post Limit Curse."
Levellord was restored to her Princess Lindsey-like glory, and Mark spent many happy years back in his birthplace of Waikiki, eating Cheetos and drinking Pepsi.
But what if, one day, NephariteofIlian were to miss a dose of Pepsi?
The end...or is it?