Friday, August 3, 2012

Haggis the Goat part 9

      They left the airport where they had landed in the plane (I use the term "airport" loosely, as it was really more of a complex of runways and buildings for the takeoff, landing, and maintenance of civil aircraft, with facilities for passengers. But no matter, the point still remains). Steve suggested they all go to the nearest Jamba Juice and enjoy a citrus-y beverage. However, there was no "nearest Jamba Juice" because they were in Scotland, and Scotland has nothing of the sort. In fact, the sort of "juice" they have is spirits, and not the kind that haunt the castles and manors of Scotland (though they have plenty of those).

     They asked the nearest Scotlander if there was a place for some citrus juice. "Aye, citrus juice, ay? I'll tell ya laddie, ain't no citrus juice round these parts."

    Steve asked "Is there a place where we can get some nice, refreshing H2O?"
The Scot replied in a stereotypical thick Scottish accent in this stereotypical manner. "Ach, we don't have H2O round these parts either. Just C9H16O2. "
     After their conversation with this stereotypical Scot was over, they continued to walk, led by Hippie Guitar Man. In the city, they rented a car. In this car, Hippie Guitar Man the driver, they traversed the land to the point where Hippie Guitar Man had his traumatic experience as a child with the giant haggis. 

     The car rolled up the dirt pathway. Hippie Guitar Man applied his foot to the brake, halting the car. He turned off the car. The engine stopped. There was dead silence. Minutes passed, and no one breathed. Time itself seemed to be holding its breath, waiting for something to happen, for the shaky Hippie Guitar Man to make his move and face the odious memory of that abominable night. 
   He shook his head and opened the car door, stepping out onto the earthy pathway. As his foot hit the aforementioned earthy pathway, a deafening roar deafened them half to death. "Aw, snap." Said Hippie Guitar Man, lazily chewing his fingernail. "Baaaahh", said Haggis, which is roughly translated, "Wait, it was like 2 months ago when I read the last chapter. How should I be reacting to this, again? What's my motivation here?" So, as he thought it over, I flipped back to part 8 to find out, myself. 
"Baaaaaaahhhhhh." said Haggis, being translated, "Oh, right. We're here to avenge Hippie Guitar Man by destroying the haggis. I'm not sure what the haggis actually did to him, but that doesn't really matter now." "That is quite right, Haggis." said the Ridiculously White Man with the Handlebar Mustache (yes, I am going back to calling him that. I was an idiot for ever letting that go). "Alright, enough stalling for time so that the author can think of ideas for what's going to happen next. Let's take down that haggis."

     As the Ridiculously White Man with a Handlebar Mustache finished these words, another deafening roar blasted through the air. Haggis and the Hippie Guitar Man ran ahead towards the forest in the distance, while the Ridiculously White Man with the Handlebar Mustache ghost-rode the car behind them. It was time to face the beast.

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