2nd November, 1993
The blue sky above Anja's head looked blue and inviting. Just exactly what was so inviting about it she couldn't say, but perhaps it had something to do with the shortness of sentences. Andrew suspected that Sandra the evil witch of dictionary was lurking somewhere nearby, perhaps between the lines that overlooked the nearby hamlet of Westborough. She crept creepily 'cross the crevice, plunging to her death. Unfortunately, she landed on the plug which kept all the air in, and the earth deflated rapidly, throwing all of the gerbils into the remaining air, where they did a fair imitation of Swan Lake before exploding in a rather un-Clarke like manner.
Later that day, in a nearby forest, Robert began to sharpen his axe, knowing full well who would be passing by soon: Little Red hopping llama, the world renouned ballet dancer. It was her earnest wish to be the owner of those twinkling stumps, which for many years have amazed the world with little effort at all. In fact, it was little effort for her to do anything because she was waited on hand and foot by forty naked servants who did her every bidding. If only the world made sense. But then again, who gave a monkeys, it was much more fun living in a world where you could step in front of a bus and reasonably expect to have no more than you hair messed up. She decided to try this and was rewarded by a loud plop followed by an excursion to the northernmost realms of the Singaporean elephant which made a change from the usual counter lunch down the pub.
Meanwhile, Ozalp had become a crazed psychopathic killer and was shot dead by the police. It was only due to the remarkable talents of Anja, the Swedish nurse, that he was restored to his normal self, unlike Dennis, who had little hope of bananas. Patrick had this strange feeling again - sort of like a cross between a lawn mower and Elle MacPherson. He knew his time was near (again), and as he scribbled furiously to complete his last sentence, a sudden flash of aniseed whirled around his body and was gone. Luckily, his entire wealth had survived, and he went on to found an advanced institute for the study of tiny but ferocious koalas that were found only in Singapore. Sleepily, the studies continued for many hundreds of years, during which time all the koalas became extinct.
Around 10 Million years in the future there were some very confused examples of gothic art. At the same time, Mary began to cycle to work on an organic velocipede whose dimension could only be estimated cathartically according to the insubstantial quantity of raw cheese. Again she was hit by a Quantum Bus, but due to the uncertainty caused by Albert the driver, she survived. Mary resumed cycling but something just wasn't right. The velocipede seemed to have slipped on the raw cheese and broken its left tentacle. It bared its nasty pointed fangs and promptly bit her on the bottom, whereon she became infected with rabies and died. The universe was folded neatly in half by a meta-origamiist, before being screwed up and unscrewed by a nihilist on heat. The rip, fold, tear, mutilate and spindle monster nearby fainted from the excitement, when it hadn't it didn't and it couldn't anymore.
Erik was somewhat puzzled as to what the hell was going on; he had no idea what the nihilist had to do with anything, the small piece of fluff he picked from the hole left only an odour that few would recognise, and who was he to complain? Frankly, I reckon we should kill him off right now, the pointless shit. However, as a reasonably restrained author, I'll just ignore him and try to torture him mercilessly instead. The rack tightened, the pokers were glowing white amongst the coals. The whips fell again and again and again and again (there, that filled up a bit). The acid caused his flesh to exit stage right. Anja laughed hysterically as she applied the Deep Heat to his raw and bloodied body, and then took coffee in a nearby trattoria.
Sipping on the cafe latte, her attention was drawn to the meandering but quite edible French bread. The bread looked up from its salad roll and looked directly into Anja's eyes. Anja was struck by the bread's deep black crusty eyes and then by the passing plumber's truck which had mounted the kerb. Luckily her kneebrace broke her fall as she was thrown over the edge of the bridge. Unfortunately, there was peak hour traffic on the 3 lanes below the bridge, onto which she had fallen. The furniture van trundled happily into the bathtub as the sheep began the accounting. Anja's lucky escape could only be put down to a clear case of story intervention, and she thanked the kind author when the explosion ripped her apart. Not even the sheep knew what was going on (who was perhaps the clearest-thinking of all the characters and the least susceptible to author-intervention).
Anja picked herself up from the tattered remains of the plot and looked at the index; she found there was a handsome prince on page 53, hailed a passing participle, and set off toward new chapters abroad. Meanwhile in the next chapter, Robert was hatching a plan to steal the wordprocessor while it was doing a spell-check. Unfortunately the plan involved using the (currently unstolen) word-processor to spell-check the proposal before sending it to the TG (Thieves Guild) for approval. Robert was uncertain and so by the Heisenberg principle, ceased to exist.
Sarah sighed as the oil was massaged into her skin, followed by the garlic, the sesame seeds and the tarragon. Yum yum! Ozalp drooled as Mary fought off the giant lettuce. Alas it was too late and Sarah became yet another victim of the cereal salad killer. Ozalp sat down in shock as the lettuce proceeded to hum the haunting Fleetwood Mac tune, Sarah, and belching the chorus. Ozalp almost gagged as the giant lettuce liberally smothered Sarah's remains with the contents of a big bottle labeled 'Human Dressing'. Ozalp could not take any more! He jumped up and then fell down, and got up again. The lettuce was losing interest in the whole thing now and decided to leave - lettuce leaf!
Ozalp sighed, this was getting too silly so he gathered up Sarah and put her in a string basket so he wouldn't have to gather her up again. Some people just can't keep it together sometimes. Grinning inanely, he sidled up to the train conductor and asked in an authorative tone ``Has the blue lipped frog been this way?''. The confused conductor scratched his head and replied in a thick cockney accent, ``Don't ask me mate I just stand here and conduct the trains mate''. The shocking truth hit home; this was a rejected Goon show script and the there was no way back. Tons of rubble came crashing upon the opera singer as miniature voices singing the Ying Tong song were heard echoing in the distance. However, the last 1'14" was unplayable due to a large scratch which lead to severe but minor errors in the reconstituted banana algorithm that began to bend and sway to the rhythm.
Patrick screamed in unison with himself but this did not seem to stop the banana's wild dance. He cast about for something to help him, but the only thing he could find was a paperclip. Patrick had beaten bananas before, but not in a legal state of mind. Some might ask who would? One thing is for sure, they would be first up against the rubble when the revolution came. What use was a paperclip in this situation anyway? Or a banana? He was always thinking about his ego. Why wouldn't he walk? Many quick and confused people were salacious. Their prized vintage saffron walrus wasn't any help either, and aided many to their death with short sharp shocks. His fangs forcefully foraged for further findings, finally finishing five fat fox fossils for fun. ``Mercy!'' managed many miserable mice, morosely moaning many mighty missives. Missiles missed, making more minions mildly muddy. Maybe the previous authors have eaten too many Pluravit tablets. Fortunately, calm was restored to the situation as Michelle Anglesweiter came forth. ``Friends'', Michelle said, ``I have come here to discuss a problem of a most serious nature. A situation that hangs over us like a black fog...''.
Her voice trailed off as she was strangled to death by a pack of rabid arts students. They clomped off in their Doc Martins, black leggings and svelte beads which gave a somewhat aesthetic air to the surroundings, where only the stark concrete had been before. Anja awoke to find her own ego shattered by the twitching kneebrace, and wondered why this always caused her to sneeze violently. Mosquitos awakened by the sudden movement rose up to form a thick black cloud above her. Anja neurotically chewed over the idea that maybe the mosquitos hated her. Should she end the story here by going on a psychotic killing spree before suiciding or would she instead be bitten to death by the large swarm of Ethiopian killer mosquitos who wanted to take further part in the story? What actually happened ended quite remarkably in a landslide victory for Dennis, who regained his lost Exegesis and went back to ravaging all of the unattached (and most of the attached) characters in the hamlet at the foot of the volcano.