The Saga of the Thong, and so on and so on...

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I wonder if I should be making a new post with every part, or if I should be adding on to an existing post...anyone who knows, please advise.

This started out as an intended 2 part story, now I'll be lucky to get done in 6. So without further delay...we dip below the belt again for another thong-capade...


Yerril stood, hesitant to be the unhappy soul who was tasked with the dreary duty of following Shralp. His shoulders sagged as he took a deep breath and faced the crowd. In his right hand he held the remote to a projector, perched on a table before him, and his left hand clutched a lustrous silver laser pointer.

“I was asked to try to find a new approach to the thong issue, so I, Lazy and a few others have a brief presentation to make. Before I go on, could someone please dim the lights?”

Numerous beer bottles hurtled skyward, most empty, some striking the lights. As the sound of shattering glass abated, it was apparent that the hall was much darker. BTA winced, as he rued his decision to not invite a few newbies to wait in the kitchen to serve as a clean-up squad. The meeting was beginning to get a bit unruly; already a group in the back had found that they could cleave a folding table with one blow from a battleaxe.

Yerril continued, hoping he didn’t stutter. “We took a close look at the SP thong, and found that the biggest problem was a matter of perception”. The projector flared up, and there, displayed far larger than life upon the wall behind the head table was the SP thong. A chorus of snickers arose from the crowd. “Now don’t laugh, take an objective look…seams that are cross-stitched for durability, a delightful cotton / poly blend reinforced with spandex to insure that the garment breathes, double inlay elastic straps to certify that they maintain that vital cling, even a cute little goblin to adorn the front.” As he revealed the raiment’s qualities, he pointed them out with the tiny red dot cast by his laser.

“It all comes back to the word ‘thong’, and the inherent prejudice against it. As a result, my team and I have endeavored to come up with new, more appealing names for the object.” From the shadows, a bolt whistled through the air and plunked into the wall, perfectly impaling the left eye of the grinning goblin. The room burst into laughter as Blackthorne launched himself to his feet.

“THAT IS ENOUGH! Don’t think for one minute that I didn’t see you do that Oaz. Let all of you be aware that I am not above re-setting post counts or assigning custom avatars from my personal collection of Britney Spears pictures.” The room immediately settled into a subdued silence, the only noise coming from a confused adventurer in the back of the room who said “Did he just say that Britney would wear the thong?”

“Ummm…errr…ahem, we first thought to call the thong a Cloak of Near Invisibility ”, continued Yerril, “not that the garment granted invisibility to the wearer, but that the thong itself was almost un-seeable. We quickly realized that a clever twist of words would fool no one. We then sought to extol the thong’s virtues to aspiring mages, and called it Body Armor, Class 0 with 0% chance of Arcane spell failure , only to find that most gamers would choose some other object to obtain AC0. In spite of these early failures, I feel that we have settled on a new title that will insure that some guy will agree to wear the thong.” Yerril paused before continuing.

“We have, given our entirely male target audience, decided to call it a Thong of Anti-Holding . Rather than objects that go in getting smaller and lighter, what ever goes into the thong will get larger and heavier. I am sure you can all understand the obvious appeal to the male mind. We are currently negotiating the production of a late night infomercial, hosted by Bob Dole, to take sale of the 'SP Thong of Anti-Holding' global.”

“Yerril, you are a genius”, boomed BTA, a huge grin splitting his face “how many people have expressed a desire to wear the, um, Anti-holding device in a photo shoot?”

“Well” stammered Yerril, “at this time, none…but I expect an overwhelming response when the magical garment is included in the next ‘D&D guide to clothing and armor’.”

“What we don’t have is time, Yerril”, mumbled Blackthorne. “If we do not find someone to wear the thong fast, there will be no SP for any of us. Sit down, and turn that thing off.” He despairingly waved his hand in the direction of the still beaming projector. “I have no choice but to proceed with a nasty little venture that Sir Belisarius has already been working on. Please, Sir, tell me something that I want to hear.”

Bel stood, conspicuous as the only one dressed in a hockey uniform, complete with skates and a stick. “Indeed we have been engaged is some sordid doings and I will be happy to provide a full report as to our black deeds.” Bel threw a handful of pretzels back into the bowl, wiped his hands together, and said “So, where to begin…”

“It became obvious early on that a certain ‘persuasion’ needed to be exercised on some of these newbies in order to obtain a thong-wearer, and save our favorite web site, so I put together a little group of some of our most violence prone members, watched all three Godfather movies, and set out to flex our muscles.” Bel paused and took a slow look around the room, whose occupants now seemed to be engaged by this new subject matter.

“Our ranks were thinned almost immediately when Shura and Arabwel fell to arguing over who was the most ‘fallen’, and they left our enforcer squad to kidnap and murder hobbit children, but Faragon, Laches and joacqin stuck with me…and DMC too, but he mostly as a legal counsel to warn us when aggravated assault would become attempted murder.” Bel fondled his hockey stick with a loving caress before continuing, “And now I will recount to you some of the incredible and bizarre discoveries we made as we searched for a wearer of the thong.”

To be continued...

[ December 13, 2003, 07:01: Message edited by: Hacken Slash ]

 

Ahh, now I understand- You've allready written this whole thing but are sifting it out in parts just to torture us. Or is it that you're waiting to find another way to write five? Might I suggest :.: or ||||| (Damn it, I couldn't find a way to use strikethrough- if this was anything less than five it'd work. Four would have been perfect ||||, then you could have used V for 5, and ::: for 6)

 

How many times does the nature of evil be explained to people? Sheesh, folks, it's not about killing kittens, or hobbits.

Then again, hobbits were the only thing wwe could agree on.

Hilarious! Absolutely hilarious!

 

OK, I am back to try to make enemies....I will be posting all in this thread from now on...so just in case you have missed some...
Here is part 1
Here is part 2
Here is part C
Here is part IV

And finally, here is part FIVE

As Grey Magistrate turned the lock on the door of the Offices of the Republican National Headquarters, he became oddly aware of a presence behind him, distinct from the frigid wind that challenged to slip down the back of his overcoat. He turned slowly, controlled, expecting to find the typical indigent or transient who was oft to pitch for some spare change, and was stunned to find four men, each dressed in Sorcerer’s Place hooded sweats. Although the smiling goblin was cute, the bare determination and aggression blazing in the eyes of the squad belied the nature of their visit. The one holding the hockey stick spoke first.

“So, you are Grey Magistrate, that smartsy-artsy newbie who has annoyed the residents of AoDA so much. You sure don’t look so smart in person. Let me introduce my associates, Joacqin, Faragon, and Laches. DMC stayed at the hotel to iron his briefs. My name is 'Bel'.” As Sir Bel called out their names, each Enforcer, who stood slightly behind, nodded their heads like a bobble-head doll.

“Always a pleasure to meet a fellow SP’er” said Grey, “What exactly can I do for you Gentlemen on such a miserable evening?”

“It’s not what you can do for us, it’s what you will do for SP” growled Sir Bel.

“Ah, I think I already understand the nature of your noble mission, my friends” said Grey, as he carefully joined the tips of his fingers in a ‘praying hand’, “I have heard rumor of the crisis of a certain thong spoken in hushed whispers in the SP chat rooms for the last several days. Is that not, indeed, the force behind this delightful yet unannounced visit?”

“You’ve hit the nail on the head, now let’s stop this fancy chatting and get you set up to wear the thong for a series of shoots with some French photographer of questionable orientation” said Bel, “you look pretty fit to me.”

“You are indeed correct, Mr. Belisarius, I am very fit” began the Magistrate, “in fact, I supplement my income from this pathetic job of bashing liberal idealists, by working as an male underwear model. I have posed for the best; Hanes, Fruit of the Loom, Joe Boxer. And that is where we arrive at our tenuous conundrum.”

The Enforcer Squad blinked as Grey continued. “For you see, my friends, my status as an incredible specimen of manhood has caused me to grow quite vain. As we have discussed in numerous threads in The Alley, the right action for the wrong reasons, is still, by default, the wrong action. I would gladly don The Thong and appear in a worldwide publication, but it would only be to feed my own incredible vanity and self-love. I am sure you can see that the thong must be worn by an individual who is performing the act out of love or devotion for SP, not one who is only satisfying an inner craving to be adored by an un-named populace. At one level, given my physical attributes, I am the obvious choice to wear the thong and save SP, but on a moral level, it could never be so. How could any of us discuss our beloved games at a site that we all knew only was still around because someone as shallow as me obtained personal glory.”

Grey paused to allow the sheer volume of his words to sink in. “I will, dutifully, perform the only action that I realistically can. I will offer a sincere prayer this eve for the success of your venture, and for the continued health of Sorcerer’s Place. Gentlemen, I bid you ‘Good Night and Godspeed’.”

Carefully, Grey stepped around Sir Bel and then between Joacqin and Faragon. Putting his head down, he walked swiftly away into the darkening night. Behind him, the Enforcer Squad was too stunned to try and stop him, still trying to sort out which underwear company the Magistrate had worked for. As he was lost in the night, Grey made a note on his Palm pilot to never, ever again leave work without a body guard.

To Be Continued...

[ December 12, 2003, 03:16: Message edited by: Hacken Slash ]

 

I think it would be pretty good if chev ended up modeling for the thong.

Great story so far, Kudos to you! Just come out with the next one ASAP!!!!

 

Chev... Thong.... let's not go there for the sake of our sanity?

This one's great

 

Makes me think of the Architecht from the Matrix, I love your characterisation (just hope Grey feels the same way )

 

If I wasn't familiar with your posts in Grey's short story threads, I might assume that you think Grey is an arrogant, egotistical horse's arse (in which case you'd have him pegged perfectly - JUST KIDDING! ). However, you're obviously portraying him as having the attitudes that someone with his talents could have.

Once again, you've done a great job (although, like Manus, I hope Grey feels the same way )

Chev...thong...*shudder*

 

Highly amusing.

(making a mental note not to read this at work, for looking like an idiot while laughing outloud more than once, is an unfortunate accurance of reading such a post)

 

And now, Saga of the Thong part ::: (thanks Manus)

You can find links to all the previous sections in my prior post...or look for it in your neighborhood bookstore next to Clancy and Tolkien.


The windows of the black van were misted with condensation, expelled from the lungs of the now departed occupants. The engine still idled as the vehicle sat beside the curb of this residential neighborhood, the exhaust making rapidly dispersing vapor in the chill of a Texas night. The houses were almost entirely dark, this late hour typically reserved for sleep or bowling with Bud long-necks. As a result, the group who surreptitiously approached one of the still lit houses did so in complete anonymity.

Dressed entirely in black, the men moved low and swift in a standard two by two cover formation. As they arrived at the front door of the humble abode, they seemed to melt into the very shadows, blending into the well trimmed shrubs along the front of the building. Crouching slightly to the right side of the front door, Sir Bel was pleased to note that he could no longer see any member of his Enforcer Squad with naked eye. Depressing an unseen switch, built into the gauntlet of his right glove, he activated the night vision feature of the goggles which covered almost his entire face and immediately the darkness fled as if under the glare of a searchlight. To his left, looking directly at him for further instructions was Faragon. Past him was Laches, fondly petting the synthetic stock of his M-14, to Bel’s right was Joacqin, who was occupying himself by scratching the head of some neighborhood kitty. Everyone was in proper position.

An additional manipulation of his glove cuff de-activated the night vision and enabled the thermal signature probe function of Bel’s remarkable face shield, purchased from a Mossad operative in exchange for Power Ball tickets. With the heat envelope in place, he could literally see “through” the walls of the house and detect all items with a physical temperature 5 degrees Celsius greater than the surrounding air. As he scanned the structure in a manner that would have made Superman blush, he observed numerous sources of warmth; oven, water heater, clothes drier, even the refrigerator and dishwasher provided a subtle glow, but then he saw it. The human shape in what would have to be the living room was unmistakable, even to the point where Bel could discern that the person’s feet were just a bit too cold.

With a series of motions with his hand, Bel indicated the position of the target and provided instructions to his Team. Without a sound, Laches and Joacqin slipped away to the ends of the building, and Faragon and Bel took up positions flanking the front door. As Bel affixed a limited directional charge to the deadbolt and knob of the front door, he knew that his men were flawlessly performing their duties, even while out of his sight. At this moment both Joacqin and Laches were firing suction tipped darts from a pneumatic gun toward the apex of the roof, and then silently hoisting themselves into position above a ground floor window via an attached non-metallic cable and personal battery powered winch. Faragon had the Flash grenade ready in his hand. Sir Bel allowed himself one momentary worry, as he hoped that everyone would remember to turn off night vision before the entry phase of the operation.

With a muted “Clllummmpppfft” the charges at the door detonated, not so much blowing the lock as vaporizing the brass portions of the mechanism due to a localized dose of extreme heat. Faragon's gentle kick sent the door flying inward, and before Bel even had a chance to look for it, the flash grenade bounced into the living room to immediately discharge on the floor. The sound of shattering glass came concurrent, as Laches swung inward through the kitchen window, landing on the linoleum floor, and Joacqin deftly entered into the living room, crashing the 19” Sylvania TV to the floor as he leveled his deadly M-14 on the target. Laches stepped through the kitchen and stopped, where he could command a view of the living room and the hallway that led back to the remainder of the small house. Faragon and Bel took a few quick steps into the living room, after carefully closing the door behind them. Like Joacqin, Faragon held the unerring barrel of his assault rifle upon the target while Bel stood with his hands on his hips; it was just too way cool to go on these raids un-armed. The polarized face goggles protected the assailants from the 23 gigawatt discharge of light energy, but strangely the occupant of the room seem equally unaffected.

He was an older man, perhaps elderly even, seated in a threadbare La-Z-Boy recliner. He was wearing a dingy tank top T-shirt and boxer shorts that appeared to have little pictures of cowboys roping wild horses. In his hand he held a television remote, the object of which was happily sizzling face down on the orange shag carpet. He glared at his unwelcome guests as he shouted “What the HELL are you doing in my home!”

Bel immediately realized that something was terribly amiss, and as he motioned his thugs to lower their weapons, he said “I…I’m very sorry, sir…we are here looking for someone known as “Chandos the Red.”

The old timer barked in a voice that threatened to shake the foundations of the simple house, “I AM CHANDOS THE RED! Who the hell are you?”

“But…but”, stammered Bel, “You look just like Ralph Nader.”

Throwing the useless remote at Joacqin, the one time target bellowed “I never said I wasn’t, now did I smarta$$?”


As it turned out, Red Nader (as he liked to be called) was a pretty good sport. In order to not prosecute, he only required that the Enforcer Squad leave all of their gear and weapons, including the van, in his possession. He even chuckled about wearing the thong, but conceded that it was likely that “the world had seen enough tragedy.”

As the Enforcers walked away from the scene of yet another thong disappointment, Sir Bel was aware that he was near to mutiny within his ranks. If it were not for the timely arrival of Satiana Fearbringer to join the venture, and the fact that the next stop on the journey was to be Australia, he felt that the entire operation would have collapsed right then and there. But, hey, who can feel down when you are going somewhere where they surf in December with a Major Babe?

To Be Continued...

[ December 13, 2003, 04:35: Message edited by: Hacken Slash ]

 

Aye, you pegged me perfectly - and I've never been so flattered! Can I have another cameo in a later episode?

 

*Gulp*

Alas, there are very few Aussies on the BoM. I think now would be a good time for all of us to skip the country...

But seeing as you seem to be picking on those who frequent the AoDA; run Judas!

*hides self in corner*

 

WooHoo - it doesn't end after 6! Of course, now you have a dilemma - what are you going to call Part 7?

This one read like a script for an FPS - been playing some Splinter Cell lately? Doesn't matter - it was still cool.

 

i hope to god he doesnt say Scotland next, theres only 2 of us here

 

Hehe, Dalveen you forgot this one:

 

This should be made into a movie for the singular reason that internet fiction cannot be given Oscars. And now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to mindlessly giggle all day as I remember this story at inappropriate times.

 

I don't share this optimism, for some reason.

 

Anxiously awaiting the next interlude.

 

He should call number 7 Seven