Complete the Sentence II: Wal-Mart's Revenge of the Bacon!

[Alice Macher]

...take a leaf from Lisa's book.

No, not by doing magic. They don't know how. You'll see what we mean. Unspoken Plan Guarantee and all that.

"So, we all clear on what to do?" said Penny as she, Aggie and Roger quickly huddled while the djinn weren't looking.

"Yep." "Righto."

"Stop gossiping idly amongst yourselves!" said the Head Rinj-a-Dinj-Dinjir. She snapped her fingers and pointed at Aggie. "You! Come here and entertain me with stories."

"Yes, my lady," said Aggie, and sat at the foot on the couch on which she reclined. "But first, if I may: don't you find this whole setup you have here--" she spread her arm to take in the whole chamber "--rather... Orientalist?"

"How do you mean?"

"I mean, a harem filled with women (and one man) in skimpy silk costumes? Doesn't that perpetuate Eurocentric stereotypes of Arab and, more broadly, Islamic culture?"

"I-- I don't--" said the djinni, scratching her head.

"Are you certain, my lady, that you want to collaborate with the inaccurate and quasi-racist co-opting of your culture as the exotic Other? That this is the face of your people you wish to present to the world?"

The Head Rinj-a-Dinj-Dinjir waved her hands away from herself while shaking her head rapidly. "You--you're talking nonsense, mortal slave. We are neither Arabs nor Muslims. We're not even bloody human."

"True," said Aggie, "but surely in presenting to humans the aspect of yourselves that you djinn do, you're relying on human cultural referents. Human appearance, language and such. And you want humans to fear and obey you, right? So wouldn't that end result be more likely if you relied more on accurate, culturally sensitive behavioural mores? And let's talk diet, while we're at it. See that dish of fattened goose, there. Are you aware of how much pain and suffering the goose undergoes when raised in such--"

The head djinni clutched her head. ShutupshutupshutUUUUP..., she thought.



While this was going on, another djinni summoned Penny and commanded her to unload barrels of wine from the camels at the end of the mountain path and carry them up to the cavern. Penny (who, remember, does work out daily) made the first three trips in silence. But when sent down once more, she said, "If it please your ladyship, may I take a twenty-minute break first?"

"A break? Such effrontery! You're a slave. You will stop working for the day when we tell you and not a minute later."

"But my lady, you see, when human muscles are overworked, they begin to produce lactic acid, and excessive buildup of this causes pain and soreness. Add that to the natural exhaustion our mortal bodies undergo when--"

"For God's sake, chattel, quit your whining and get back to work," said the djinni.

"Whining?!" said Penny. "I am not whining. I am complaining. Do you want to hear whining? Thi-is is whining: 'Ohhh! These barrels are too heavy! They huurt, and they're so nasty! Why- do- I- have- to- carryyyy- the-e-emmm...'"

"Make it stop!" cried a nearby djinni.

"STOP WHINING!" said the first to Penny.

"But I thought you wanted whining..."

The Rinj-a-Dinj covered her ears, sobbing. "Please..."



Meanwhile, a djinni summoned Roger--who, we'll remind you once again, is a dead-ringer for John Cleese--to pour glasses of wine for her and her friends and bring them to her on a tray.

"Right away, mum!" he said, and proceeded to fetch the tray, bottle and glasses while walking like this (@0:16).

"Slave!" said his mistress. "What are you doing?"

"A thousand pardons, mum, but I was born with a most unfortunate orthopedic condition that causes me to walk in peculiar ways. However, I assure her ladyship that this will in no way impede the performance of my domestic duties."

"Hrm..." The djinni waved the back of her hand in his direction. "Fine, fine, continue."

"Here we are, then." Roger, stumbling slightly, plopped the wine bottle on the tray, cracking the expensive crystal somewhat and causing his mistress to tut-tut. "Terribly sorry, milady. Now then...ah! The glasses." He went to fetch them with another tray, walking like in the above clip @1:39. A couple of glasses banged against each other and got chipped, while a third went overboard and shattered. "Ah, me. That's coming out of my wages, I suppose."

"You don't get wages, you--you oaf... look, just be more careful, all right?"

"Very good, mum." Roger placed the remaining intact glasses on the tray with the wine bottle and filled them. Then he brought them over to the Rinj and her friends, walking like the woman in the clip @2:27. (I love it when this fic goes multimedia, don't you?) There... may have been a bit of wine that didn't spill all over them as a result.

The djinni and her friends, dripping with wine, immediately stomped over to their queen to complain about the boorish slave she'd assigned them. This was, of course, at the same time that Penny's mistress was complaining about her, while Aggie was prattling on about whether those who picked the grapes for the wine may have been exploited. Cesar Chavez's name may have come up.

"ENOUGH!" said the Head Rinj-a-Dinj-Dinjir at last. "I can't take you three anymore. You're so... annoying. I hereby release you from our service. Get out. OUT!"

As they hurried out the cave and down the mountain path, the queen hurled a bin packed with ice at them, followed by a bottle of wine. Both objects missed them; however, the latter landed right smack in the former, coating it liberally with wine as it shattered.

"LOOK!" It was Aggie, motioning for her companions to stop. "The cooler. The cooler's got wine all over it."

"So?" said Penny, raising an eyebrow.

"Don't you see? The cooler's been wined."

As the cooler too had suffered damage upon impact, most of the wine quickly drained out the bottom. However, the remaining residue in the cooler spelled out "6-16-2012."

"June 16, 2012..." Penny's eyes widened. "Aggie. That's it. That's our wedding date."

Aggie's eyes misted over as she took Penny's hand. At that moment, they both spotted a crevice in the cliffside just big enough for the two of them to slip inside. "Roger, would you excuse us for fifteen minutes? Better make it thirty."


And so it was settled. And you, dear reader, are cordially invited to attend Agenny's wedding. Make space on your calendar now!

But for the moment, let's go back to Lisa and Luna (Lis is making peevish noises at us, apparently over being upstaged), as they make their way to...

[Tamar]

...the Isle of Avalon, where they sought to hold their wedding. There, they were surprised to find, still alive after nearly two thousand years, Joseph of Arimathea, who now served as Avalon's governor.

"Welcome, Mistresses Winklemeyer and Lovegood," said Joseph. "Yes, I know who you are. Magic, you know. On behalf of all of us here, including Morgan le Fay and her eight sisters, may I say how very honoured we are that you've chosen Avalon as the location for your nuptials. You may hold it anywhere but in that cave over there." He pointed off in the distance.

"Is that where Arthur lies sleeping?" said Luna.

Joseph chuckled. "Oh, no, no. That's just a yarn we put about centuries ago to keep nosy tourists and explorers away. No, Nimue's got him safely stowed away with his trusty Excalibur at the bottom of the Lake, until he's needed. No, in that cave dwells the wondrous, marvellous, miraculous, stupendous, eye-boggling, chin-wagging, nose-crinkling--" He paused to take a breath "--Grail Galumphalot, a creature so named because it...

[Kamino Neko]

...s parents were very fond of grails. Couldn't get enough of them. Had a whole collection. Holy, Unholy, Sacrilegious, Funny (both kid-friendly, and very dirty).'

The girls blinked at him. 'Wha...?'

'Oh, yes. Some were very filthy, indeed. One I rather enjoyed had a poem on it that went...' He thought for a moment. 'Ah, yes. 'With this grail, I wish for a little tail. Not the kind on which I sits, one with big enormous--'

'Yeah, that's enough, thanks!' Lisa put both hands over Joseph's mouth. 'What we mean is...actually, I'm not sure what we mean. I'm just very confused by this whole situation, rather than any detail in particular. Luna?'

'No, I think you've spoken for me, dear.'

Lisa let go of Joseph's face. 'Actually, could you tell us why this Grail Galumpher's cave is off limits? Is it a dangerous animal.'

'Oh, no, nothing of that sort.'

'Sacred, then?' Luna raised a hand.

'Ah, no, not quite.'

'...'

'...'

The girls sighed. 'Well, what then?'

'Ah, well, you see...

[Alice Macher]

...come, ladies, inside my governor's mansion, specifically in the Briefing Room, where we can talk more privately."

Looking at each other and shrugging, the couple followed Joseph inside. The Briefing Room featured a table of fine cypress wood, chairs with goose-down cushions, and a portrait of a familiar personage with the handwritten Aramaic inscription, "To my good friend 'Flaskmeister' Yossi,* with thanks. --Yeshua."

Noticing them gaping at the portrait (yes, as advanced magicians they could read Aramaic), Joseph winked and touched his nose. "That'll be our little secret, 'kay?"

The girls nodded.

"Right then, have a seat, do. Yes, so the reason the Grail Galumphalot is not to be disturbed in his cave is that he's working on a secret project for the SIS, involving the Grail. Yes, that one. The Boss's."

"Wow," said Lisa. "Guess you can't tell us what it's about, or you'd have to kill us, right?"

"What? I would never kill y--oh, wait, this is one of your famous 'memes,' isn't it? Yes, very amusing. But seriously, all I can say about the operation codenamed 'Dixie Cup' is that it seeks to harness the Grail's power to refertilize and rejuvenate...


* Possibly anachronistic nickname for "Yoseph," roughly equivalent to "Joe" or "Joey"

[Kamino Neko]

...daytime television.'

The girls simply blinked at him. 'Daytime...TV.'

'Yes.' Joseph smiled.

'... Why?' Lisa made a facial expression that you can only make if you're a toon - specifically her left eyebrow detached and hovered a little above her hairline.

'Why what, my dear?'

'... Why do they want to use the grail to fix daytime TV?'

'Have you seen daytime TV, lately?'

'... My fault. What I meant was why are they wasting the grail on that instead of fixing a desert, or something?'

'Oh, my dear. You don't know. You see, daytime TV is...

[Tamar]

...or at least, was originally intended to be, a medium that was not only entertaining and informative, but also... uplifting. Soul-nurturing. Not just in a specifically Church of England sense, either, but... well, you see, after World War Two--as you, Miss Lovegood, must've heard--the U.K. didn't go straight into a peacetime boom as America did. The economy had taken a huge hit. Fresh reminders of the Blitz were everywhere. And of course, many lives lost. That a good number of those deaths were directly in defence of our nation was nothing to sniff at, but still...it couldn't bring them back, you know.

"So while those in the emerging field of American telly were busy putting men in women's clothing (which, I'll grant as a Briton, is deuced amusing, as long as it's not poking fun at the transgendered) and getting petrol companies to sponsor them, here in the U.K., broadcasting was nationalized so that, in consultation with myself, the nine sisters, the Archbishop of Canterbury and the Chief Rabbi, we could develop programs that would not only bring the nation together, but enlighten it."

"And how'd that work out?" said Lisa.

Joseph cleared his throat. "Initially, for test audiences, a little too effectively. Programs such as High Tea with John the Baptist and Too Hot for WWII: Inspirational Churchill Speeches caused some viewers to... transcend their material, mortal form. And not all of them could change back."

Lisa, hearing Luna's intake of breath, took her hand and stroked it. Never again, Moon Pie. I promise.

"So we had to scale it back a bit," said Joseph. "Couldn't have people going all translucent and immaterial en masse, you know. Wouldn't do. Instead, we released uplifting but safe programs such as...

[Zanosuke Kurosaki]

Touched in the Head by an Angel, Not Playing with a Full House, Dysfunctional Family Matters, and one we don't speak of. Every time someone attempts to start a Wikipedia article on it, a member of the Obliviators has to quickly Apparate in, remove their memories of the show, remove the edits, and then close their Wikipedia user account. To be safe, we just carefully edit their memories until they think they have vague bad memories of the entire site that somehow involve a goat and a stick of butter."

Lisa gave him a quizzical (bordering on "I am quite curious about that last bit but am not sure I wish to know...") look, and Joseph relented.

"Very well. You've heard of Heil, Honey, I'm Home? Well, we made the mistake of creating a 'sibling' program, called Ciao, Baby, I'm Back, about Mussolini. Unfortunately, the film used in the studio was somehow mixed up with a stack of film that had been blessed by one of our angels the last time she partook of the fruit of the vine (rather heavily, I might add...) And while you wouldn't think it would make much of a difference, they loaded it in backwards." Joseph hung his head, one hand over half his face. "So anyone who watched it would turn into gibbering, violent idiots that weren't satisfied until they had egged and toilet-papered every last thing in the vicinity. This wouldn't be so bad if it weren't for the 'rumor' website owners who somehow got hold of the master copies of the proofs, and post information about the show about once every five weeks in an attempt to evade our...

[Tamar]

...cyber-searchlights (it's complicated, how they work)."

"And that's when daytime telly started to go downhill?" said Luna.

"Oh no," said Joseph, pouring some tea for the three of them. "It was when a court decision broke up the Downing Street/SIS/Heaven broadcasting oligopoly, freeing the airwaves for such rubbish as The Jeremy Kyle Show."

Lisa shrugged. "I only know, like, Monty Python, The Goodies, Are You Being Served?, Benny Hill and whatever else I can yoink from YouTube or torrent."

"Er, yes. Well, those weren't daytime shows in any case. But come, let's talk of happier things. Your wedding: were you planning on any sort of magic spectacles?"

"...Eyeglasses?" said Lisa and Luna simultaneously.

"No. The other sense of 'spectacle.'"

"Oh! Yes indeed," said Luna, perking up and leaning forward. "We thought it'd be lovely if the dinner entertainment could feature the Eurasian Eight-Legged Dancing...

[Kamino Neko]

...Sloth.'

'Eight-Legged Eurasian Dancing Sloth?' Lisa tilted her head.

'Yes. Beautiful creatures. They do this sort of snails' pace cross between a waltz and the jitterbug.' Luna beamed. 'It's supposed to be a terribly beautiful sight.'

'Slow, though. An complex, what with the 8 legs, and all.'

'Well, they're only called eight-legged.'

'So, they don't have 8 legs?'

'No.'

'Why do they call them eight-legged, then?'

'Because Dixometus Lovegood, who discovered them - an ancestor of mine, of course - had a superstitious fear of the number ten.'

'So, they have 10 legs?'

'No, 12.'

'...' Lisa and Joseph both looked at Luna.

When Luna didn't elaborate, Lisa shrugged, and went on. 'So, why didn't he just call them Twelve-Legged Eurasian Dancing Sloths?'

'Well, because...

[Alice Macher]

...he was so superstitious that he also avoided using numbers in the tens column. Especially the series eleven through nineteen. He painstakingly conducted his finances such that he never had a balance of between £9.99 and £19.99 at any time. But one dark day, he checked his bank book after a transaction at Gringotts, and found to his horror he had a balance of exactly £10.00."

"And what happened then?" said Lisa.

"Well, before he could butt back in the queue and make an emergency withdrawal or deposit, the Earth right in front of his feet opened, just as he'd always feared from earliest childhood, and out came...

[Zanosuke Kurosaki]

The Infernal Spawn of the Infernal Spawn of Evil. Unfortunately, it was so cute, not even the goblins could bring themselves them to try to attack it. The beast and it's father then took him off to...

[Tamar]

...London Below, where Mr. Croup and Mr. Vandemar sat him down, tied him up and sharpened their potato graters as they prepared to...

[Kamino Neko]

...make hashbrowns.'

Here, we switch to a simple narrative, because...look, it's just easier, OK?

'Breakfast?'

Dixometus blinked at them.

'I'm...sorry?'

Croup raised a dismissive hand. 'Oh, we're simply being hospitable. No need to apologise for imposing, is there, Mr Vandemar?'

'Certainly not.' Vandemar turned to Croup, as he paused a few moments. 'In fact, in certain circles, it would be more rude to turn down our hospitality.'

'Yes, very true, Mr Vandemar.' Croup looked to Dixometus.

Dixometus, who had gotten a very strong sense that these were not men he ought be rude to, nodded. 'Ah, erm, yes, then I think I will take breakfast with you, ah, good gentlemen. Could I possibly have a double helping of sausage?'

The other two men looked at him. 'Any why double sausage, rather than sausage and bacon, pray?'

'Ah, well....

[Tamar]

...because it's such a sausage-fest in here already, haha?" He grinned at his captors.

Silence.

"You shouldn't have said that," said Mr. Croup. "There are a number of acceptable answers you could have given to that query--approximately ten by my count--"

"AAAAAAAAH!" said Dixometus.

"Sharrup!" said Mr. Vandemar, striking him hard upside the head with an egg-whisk.

"--but that was not one of them. We are displeased. Most displeased. Isn't that right, Mr. Vandemar?"

"Too right it is."

"Look, please," said Dixometus, shaking. "All I did was crack a joke about sausages. Surely there's no harm in that, what? You know what they say, 'Those who love sausage and the law should never watch either being made.'"

Mr. Croup froze, then glowered. "My God, you've got cheek. Does he not, Mr. Vandemar? I rather think our guest could do with a little... less... cheek, don't you agree?"

He nodded to his colleague, who applied a potato grater to the area in question. Dixometus winced and shuddered, but didn't cry out.

Mr. Croup smiled grimly. "Well. It's not often enough that we've an opportunity to use that method of... compliance. Not often enough."

Now Dixometus cried out. Oh, how he cried out. And just cried, generally.

"Please... I beg you... stop saying that number!"

"Wot," said Mr. Vandemar. "Ten?"

"AAAAAAAAAAH!"

"Aha," said Mr. Croup. "It seems our guest has a touch of decaphobia. Well. In my professional opinion, the most effective treatment for such an unfortunate malady is exposure therapy." He walked over to a bookshelf and pulled out a dictionary, then thumbed to the "T" section. "Let me see...ah! 'Tenability, tenable, tenableness, tenacious, tenaciously, tenaciousness, tenacity, tenancy, tenant, tenant farmer, tenanted, tenantry, tench, tend...'"

"By all the gods and goddesses... please..."

"Oh, but I'm far from done. Think of this as an educational exercise. Vocabulary-building, yes? 'Tendency, tendentious, tendentiously, tendentiousness, tender, te--'"

There was a loud wall-shattering CRACK, and a booming voice from the figure who stepped through it.

"Oh, what sad times are these when passing ruffians can say 'Ten' at will to old men! (Oh, sorry.) I am here to rescue you, poor old sod. My name is...

[Zanosuke Kurosaki]

Leonard, of Quirm. I invent, design, and make devices to improve the lives of my fellow man. For example, this-" and here he hefted the smoking tube on his shoulder, which happened to be pointing directly at Mr. Croup and Mr. Vandemar, and patted the barrel fondly, "is my device made expressly for the purpose of humans defending themselves against dangerous animals, and in a pinch, clearing things like pesky walls out of the way. I call it the 'Boomstick', for short. Now, if you gentleman would kindly -"

Leonard stopped short, for he noted that the two men had apparently fainted. "Oh dear, oh dear. This is about as bad as that time I...