Duck and Cover

It begins again...

<center>Dongo Weener 2
Mrs. Continuum
(and The Destruction of The Universe, Creation, et al.)
(otherwise known as Boom)</center>

Prologue
There are a lot of gods in the universe. Think: God of Life, God of Death, Goddess of Lust, the Petunia Party, and in some obscure parts of the creation, you've got the God of Little Green Bits That Squeak.
Like I said: obscure parts.
These deities obviously each have their duties to perform, as their names suggest. Even greater, they are all responsible for keeping the time-space continuum running as happy as a pig in mud; or at least as happy as a reasonably drunk party-goer in beer.
The gods, however, decided to sod that idea and invoked the almighty Red-Taped power of Divine Delegation so that they could play Tragic: The Garnering and Krakow Ye Blasphemous Mortal instead.
And so the Delegation worked its way through the myriads of demi-gods, avatars, angels and landed smack-bang in the lap of Mrs. Continuum. It stayed there, too.
Wouldn't have been much of a story if it hadn't.
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Dr. Lang typed along happily on his terminal one fine, sunny day. He lived in San Francisco, where the science was high and the fish had three-plus eyes. Dr. Lang was somewhat illegally experimenting with modifying the genes of some insects, reptiles and other crawlies. Dr. Lang was typing. Happily.
Living in the wastes as he was, and having spent all his money on the expensive bio-tanks in which to perform his experiments, he hadn't been able to afford a big AlertAlert(tm) Red Warning Klaxon. So he was pretty surprised when all of a sudden typing happily wasn't really a viable option anymore. Vaguely he wondered why, just before he died a horrible and excrutiatingly painful death, including, but not limited to, being ripped apart limb from limb.
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One fine, sunny day in San Francisco, outside some daft Shi biologist's house, a dusty traveller and his iguana companion paused for some shade and a chance to leer at passersby of the opposite gender.
And to unwittingly become the catalyst for (cue drama) The Destruction of The Universe, Creation, et al. (otherwise known as Boom).

IT IS UPON US!! RUN!!!
:: places his boxers on his head and runs around in circles until hit by a lamp post ::


Hi.

Sykotik periodically channels the shade of Douglas Adams (high praise indeed).

Bloodgeon11 wrote:Sykotik periodically channels the shade of Douglas Adams (high praise indeed).

wow.
dang... thanks!

BTW, I'm aiming to drop the next chapter in your laps sometime in this fair month of January. So like, keep your panties on and stuff.

Yeah baby, you know you want it...

CHAPTER 1: It Begins or Oh God No, Not Again!
Spud was starting to think that maybe the Petunia Party wasn't all that and then some anymore. All they ever did was sit around, doing that funky photosynthesis thing, and bitch about whales. Being a Saint didn't even get you any perks.
Spud sighed. It was facking boring, too. Petunias seemed to think that sliced cheese was still a Neat Thing. Neater than sliced bread, anyway, which had had its five centuries of fame during the previous millenium.
Lounging about on his bed, Spud reminisced a bit on The Good Old Days. The ones he'd spent with Dongo and Harold. Mentally, tires squealed to a halt as he went back over the phrase "Good Old Days" and reversed over it a couple of times.
They'd been fun days, at the very least.
All of a sudden, a big white gateway opened, accompanied by fanfare and huzzahs wafting out from somewhere along the edges of the gateway. Spud was used to this by now; the gods liked showing off when they made an appearance.
Instead of some obnoxious deity tottering out, a slightly bedraggled-looking woman stalked out and glared at the gateway, before turning that icy glare on Spud. Spud re-arranged his body parts in an attempt to save face.
Mrs. Continuum wasn't very much impressed and nearly impaled Spud by pointing a long, sharp fingernail at him.
"You know the one known as Dongo Weener." That nifty thing called punctuation helps you to realise that it wasn't a question.
Spud merely groaned and thought: "Oh God no, not again!"
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Meanwhile, in a state of blissful unawareness of any kind of impending disaster, Dongo and Harold were busy ogling a couple of hardcore scantily-clad vixens in leathers.
"I don't know about you, but if that's canon, I'm not looking at hardcore scantily-clad vixens in leathers," spakest the one known as Harold.
"And just so you know, I'm looking at hardcore scantily-clad vixens in leathers right now," he asserted himself.
Dongo grunted and merely applauded the Skanty Klothing Kompany's marketing division's good taste in stand-up cardboard vixens.
Prying themselves away from the cardboard vixens in the derelict shop's window, the devastating duo surveyed their surroundings.
For the second time in this miserable excuse for a saga, they were standing in the main road of Dustbag, sans stolen car and porno mags. The Titty Twister that had indirectly led to the stolen car becoming a stolen stolen car last time around was now abandoned. The MegaMunchies MegaMall had become even yellower in the interim, if possible. Also, the seedy types hanging around the bummed out town had become even seedier, if possible. In both of the aforementioned cases, it was evidently possible.
"So, how improbable is it that, for the second time, we've hit on a broken quest, Dongo?" asked Harold of our favourite protagonist.
"Pretty improbable, I'd guess," replied Dongo.
"Zaphod Beeblebrox isn't going to jump out ranting about the Heart of Gold anytime now, is he?" queried Harold.
Blank stare.
"Nevermind, Dongo. Let's go get some Cheesy Poofs."
Agreement.
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Realisation dawned in Spud's eyes.
"You mean he's responsible for everything again? I mean, bloody hell, why don't the gods just get rid of the tool already with that Krakow Ye Bloody Irritating Sod gimmick?"
"It gives them amusement value. Sometimes, though, I think they get off on the irritation value it gives us."

*Eyes get all googly-like from sheer overexposure to HGG references*