Chapter 6b: A Trekkie on Every Island

written by: Matt Danielsson (appearing courtesy of Demokrazy comics)

Tim and Jerry hurriedly walked down the sidewalk, leaving the tumultuous chaos outside the club behind.

"Umm..." said Jerry. He thought for a second, then decisively added, "Umm!"

"That was somewhat odd," Tim remarked as they turned a corner and headed down a more seedy back street.

Indeed, none of the men had expected to be saved from the irky situation in the hotel by the honorable Rev. Al Sharpton. Not that good ole’ Al had swept in like a more pompous version of Batman to merrily beat the pulp out of The Man in Blue Suede. On the contrary, Rev. Sharpton had simply happened to be in the same room when he suddenly imploded for no apparent reason. This would normally have passed as yet another oddity of Bermuda, but this just so happened to take place in the hotel where a large group of prestigious astrophysicists had gathered for a 3-day conference about the theoretical connection between the Bermuda triangle and the mysterious, bad fabric of those hideous t-shirts that tourists around the world were so happy to pay good money for.

Naturally, this was a terribly boring subject, even for astrophysicists, and subsequently everyone was quite liquored up. When Rev. Sharpton imploded to the size of a pea (which quickly fell between two cushions and into that unidentified dimension where remotes go when they die,) a Wild West-style brawl quickly ensued regarding the possible cause of the phenomena. This was fortunate for Tim and Jerry, since The Man in Blue Suede had just produced a stun gun and explained that he would apply 120,000 volts to their private parts if they did not drop their weapons and accompany him to a remote location, presumably for the purpose of easy disposal of the remains. This never happened, since one of the astrophysicists, who was a closet wrestling-fan, had climbed up on a shelf and body-slammed The Man in Blue Suede with the drunken misconception that he was targeting the Dean of Science of a prestigious East Coast university. Tim and Jerry had gracefully acknowledged this divine intervention by seizing the stun gun from The Man in Blue Suede and applying it generously to his private parts instead.

"So, err, off to Planet Hollywood, then?" Jerry said as they hurried down the street past a boarded-up liquor store that somehow had managed to go out of business in spite of all the tourists on the island.

"Yo!" Tim said, waving for a taxi to stop. The driver gave him the finger and sped off.

"Huh, just like in New York," he remarked. "Do you see any other cabs around?"

"No, and we don’t have time to go looking for one either. We have to get to Willie Nelson and the girls ASAP."

Jerry had pronounced it "Ayh-sapp" for sole purpose of annoying Tim, who hated when you read acronyms like words. Jerry had yet to find an excuse to pronounce URL so it’d rhyme with "hurl." He was hoping and expecting Tim’s head to explode, or at least spin 360 degrees. A mere "Ayh-sapp," however, only made Tim grind his teeth so hard his lower lip got covered with fine-ground enamel.

"Look, Jerry. I like you..." Tim lied, "but there comes a time when even good friends have to slit another friend’s throat, not all the way, just enough to tip his head back and turn him into a Pez-dispenser, and..."

"Hey, check it out! There’s our ride!" Jerry said, happy to interrupt the stream of drivel coming from Tim’s mouth. He pointed at a rusty Dodge van that slowly made its way down the street. It was the only moving vehicle on the road. Tim hesitated for a second.

"Ok, let’s go," he said.

Jerry stepped out in front of the van waving for it to stop. When it slowed down, Tim was ready to open the door and jump in with his gun pointed at the driver. He blinked. The driver was an ugly-looking yellow troll with huge ears and small, pointy teeth.

"Who are you? What are you doing in my vessel?" the troll demanded. Jerry entered the van and froze up, staring in disbelief at the troll.

"What the fudge is THAT?" he asked. Tim shrugged.

"Yes, what the fudge are you? Some kind of carnival freak?" he said.

"I am the Grand Nagus of the Ferengi Alliance. This is outrageous! How dare you interfere with my quest for profit?"

Tim pulled the rubber mask off the driver with his left hand while keeping the gun firmly wedged against his ribs. The geek underneath once again startled Tim and Jerry. As a rule, you find very few Trekkies who’d ever be offered a modeling contract. Most of them are happy to get a date with anything with a pulse, so it was something of a surprise to find a Brad Pitt look-alike under the mask.

"Alright, take us to the Planet Hollywood gift shop, and step on it!" Tim commanded.

"Rule of acquisition #29: What’s in it for me?" the Trekkie asked.

"Two slugs of 9 mm full metal jacket. I’ll be happy to make a deposit right now, if you like."

"Huh. I suppose this is where rule #125 kicks in: You can't make a deal if you're dead," the Trekkie sighed and shifted into gear.

"Hey, there’s some dumb wookie-dude back here," Jerry said.

"Bah! Despicable Hur’Iq! I’ll bury my Bet’leH in your flesh!"

"Fools, that is a member of the Klingon High Council! Dishonoring him will bring certain death!" the first Trekkie said.

Jerry ignored the warnings he’d heard about consuming aspirin with alcohol and fished out a travel-sized container of aspirin from his pocket. He popped two into his mouth and swallowed them down with a swig of from his pocket flask.

"Now, you two idiots listen very, very carefully to me..." Tim said with a voice that made the moisture on the inside of the windshield turn frosty. "All I want is to be taken to my destination. Do this, and I may let you live. But if I hear a single rule or Klingon word again, I will take a corkscrew, a piece of piano wire, three needles and a bottle of Tabasco – the perfect Hot Item for a Hot Date!™ – and..."

Tim spent the next ten minutes meticulously explaining in detail how he intended to use the items in a most psychotic and terrifying way that not even the editors of Fangoria would let through to publication, much less a respectable humor rag such as this. By the time he was finished they were nicely parked at the curb in front of the Planet Hollywood gift shop. The foul odor of Klingon excrement filled the van, since the honorable member of the high council had found the part about the Tabasco application to be particularly unsettling.

Jerry, on his part, had decided that perhaps he would hold off on that URL-thing, after all. In fact, he may even refrain from pushing any of Tim’s buttons until this mission was over, at which point it may be time to consider a career change, or at least relocate to another town.

"Oh, we’re here! Gee, time flies when you’re having such interesting conversations, eh, boys?" Tim said and smiled happily as he exited the vehicle. Jerry said nothing and followed Tim.

"Now, let’s see if we can find Willie and his two new friends," Tim said.

"Wait a second... Is that The Man in Blue Suede standing over there by the news stand?" Jerry pointed. Tim opened his mouth to say something, but the words never left his throat because of what happened next.

Continue on to the next chapter with Tim & Jerry...
Continue on to the next chapter with Jane & Julia...