Previously on Blog Wars:
Suddenly, Lance Armstrong dropped dead. Jodie Foster, Jesus and John Wayne Gacy looked down at the bar at the Cyclist Corpse. Jesus laughs
“This reminds of the time when Michael Landon and I were in Belgium. No, wait…it was Amsterdam. Not that it matters. A change in geography isn’t going to bring Marcel back.” said Jesus
“Who’s Marcel” asked Jodie Foster
“Well, Marcel was part of a much larger story. A story that involved two hookers, a monkey named Lucky Jim and a slighty burned copy of Rum Punch.”
As Jesus tells his long and boring story about the death of an American icon, no one notices what’s going on with the more recently dead American icon on the floor. Bubbles of hardened skin rise over his entire body. They lift him upright (some of them have arms now) so he can walk. Tumor ears, tumor eyes, tumor fingers, chest, and legs. He’s like barfed-on bubble wrap.
Jodi Foster senses their danger, but she is too late to save John Wayne Gacy. Armstrong stuffs his mouth with an underwear-shaped tumor. He falls to the floor with a sour, defeated HONK.
Foster and Jesus take fighting stances, but they have no idea what’s in store for them. Armstrong flings tumor after tumor, each one shaped like what they fear most (crucifixes and wieners). They deflect his attacks but he continues to press them back. Foster tries a force-push. Christ conjures and throws swordfish. Nothing seems to work.
Just before they are overpowered, John Travolta and Tom Cruise kick open the door and open fire on the Tumor Man. He goes down fizzing and popping and foaming. “Just as my dream fortold,” says Cruise.
“Yes,” answers Travolta. “Now we definitely know!”
“What’d you shoot him with?” asks Foster.
“It’s a Lysol Multipurpose Cleaning Solution,” answers Cruise. “Less Thetans.”
“Enough talk!” barks Travolta. “We can explain everything on the jet, but right now we gotta go!”
Foster isn’t keen on boarding a plane filled with men when she can damn well fly herself. But then Cruise winks at her, and she utterly forgets her ideals.
“Damn,” Christ thinks. “Wish I could do that.”
Travolta reads his mind. “Become an OPP III – AT 800XL and maybe you can.”
On the jet Tom and John explain things to Jesus and Foster. “Times have gotten weird lately,” Cruise begins. “Surely you’ve all felt it. I had a dream warning me that Lance Armstrong would try to end the world.”
“But you took care of that,” interrupts Jesus. “Right?”
Travolta gives him a little neck massage. “Sure, kiddo. But that was only the beginning.”
“Right,” continues Cruise. “We believe the source of the evil is…” He and Travolta exchange worried glances. “Now I’d like you to brace yourself, Jesus…we think the source of the evil is God himself!”
“NOOOOOOOOOOO!” Jesus stands up and screams and starts randomly shooting the jet with emotional light rays. Travolta pinches his neck and he falls to the floor. “That didn’t go well. He may be a problem. Let’s leave him with my wife. We have a room in the basement for this sort of thing.”
Cruise looks down at Jesus, clearly disturbed. “If he can only be convinced…we need him on this.”
“Excuse me,” Foster interrupts. “But, even if he does get on board, how are we supposed to kill God?”
Travolta explains while wrapping Jesus in carpet. “We believe he’s taken human form, and may not in fact know that he is God.”
Cruise continues, “Our source tells us he’s going by the name Todd. He should be easy to identify. He has a habit of making sandwiches out of his ding-dong. If we can’t find him, we’ll have to settle for his closest known associate, Mark David Chapman.”
“Hey! I know that D-Bag!”
Cruise and Travolta lock eyes and share a thought: FATE.
Cruise musters all the intensity he can. The future history of mankind rests on how he chooses to deliver this next line. “John. Jodi. Let’s handle some truth.”
Todd watches the actors flub their lines over and over. “What a bunch of tard sauce. Me miss Miss Foster. Gonna make me sandwich now.” He enters an empty trailer, far from the prying eyes of Chapman. “What a fat loser. Won’t get off me back. Just wanna sandwich is all. Sheesh!”
As he prepares his weird meal, he experiences flashes of memories that shouldn’t belong to him. Having a son, inventing the world, declaring abortion bad. He finds this very confusing. It’s like there’s something in front of him that he just can’t see.
It distracts him. It distracts him from his sandwich and it distracts him from the sound of someone entering the trailer. It distracts him from the cold metal against the back of his head, and when his brains are splattered on the wall, they’re still trying to figure it out.
Mark David Chapman puts away his smoking revolver and opens his cell phone. “It’s done, Master.”
Half a world away Pato Hoffman smiles. “Very good,” he replies. “Now prepare yourself…they are coming. And Mark?”
“If his son gets in the way…you know what to do.”
Hoffman hangs up the phone, satisfied–but wondering how it’s all going to work out in the end.