shake n' bake, jump n' jive, float n' sting, run n' hide

The endless quest for alcohol drives four more poor souls into a life of crime. I've only just returned from a daring rescue mission with all of my limbs intact. You see, these poor bottles of booze were trapped inside a particularly nasty country club. The country club would pour out the bottles' insides into little styrofoam cups, not giving the precious liquid the respect it deserved. At times, the employees of the country club put their undeserving mouths on the bottles and snuck a taste of this sweet nectar of the gods. Naturally we had to do something. We formulated a plan. Sneak in. Grab the booze. Sneak out.

The rendezvous point was James's. We grabbed a transport (a big cooler) for the royalty we were about to extricate from its prison. Getting onto the prison grounds was easy enough. They don't really worry about people coming into a prison. After we made our way through the booby-trap infested grounds (fiery pits which we flew over, various attack dogs which I managed to judo chop in the necks, and a few anonymous henchman that we took out with ease) we reached the prison complex. After scaling the 20 foot high electric fence with nothing but our bare hands, we were inside. The holding cell wasn't far. James found the weak point in the defenses (the service window) and penetrated the holding cell. Tom and myself grabbed the transport and hoisted it into the complex.

Just then, the evil Tidy-o with his Vacuum Cleaner of Doom emerged from the inner sanctum of the prison complex. Numer0 was prepared for this. He assumed his fighting position, but Tidy-o took no notice of the four liberators of justice hunched in the shadows. With all of the princes of the land of Intoxia safely secured in the transport, we headed back out of the grounds.

Once off the grounds, we knew we could not return the way we came, for it would take far too long and would be far too risky. We took a shortcut through the Land of the Wealthy Assholes. One big private driveway tailor-made for our getaway. At the end of the drive, we ducked into the Woods of Doubt. The magical spell immediately took effect, as we could not find the predetermined path back to the rendezvous point. After a few minutes of aimless wandering, we came across an enchanted barrier of barbed wire. As we tried various superpowers on this barrier, a vehicle pulled up the drive behind us. The driver pulled up like a bat out of hell, turned his vehicle directly towards us, his lights flooding the Woods of Doubt (we all duck for cover), and stops hard. The cruel mistress of panic began to seduce her way into our minds. The vehicle was an SUV, cops don't drive SUVs, but then who was it, why did they turn directly towards us, were they the prison guards, why aren't they getting out of the car, just sit still, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. Someone (or something) gets out of the car, and we lose sight of it. We all held our breaths until Tom (Webo) said, "I just saw him go up to a house over there." A collective sigh of relief was released. We discovered the enchanted barrier was not that high, and we could step over it with a little effort.

We had made it to the rendezvous point, but we were not of the Woods yet. Doubt continued to plague us as we fought toward the clearing of James's backyard. Once in the clear, all doubt passed from our minds. We placed the princes into their palace (James's shed) to be prepared for the rescue celebration the next night.

Put another felony on my non-existent police record. Belcho, Numer0, Webo, and Trivio strike again, in the name of justice and drunkenness.

Currently enjoying:


In honor of the Mexican with the vacuum.

Next ish: I'll post again after we celebrate the emanicipation of the Princes of Intoxia in grand style, by drinking them. To Princes Vermouth, Bacardi, and Seagram! We salute thee!