NationStates Jolt Archive

In our last episode, the Rogue Nation of Dishonorable Scum went to Hell (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=275202).

Now, at last, after years of contract negotiations, union strikes, budget overruns, interference from studio executives, copyright infringement suits, and other interminable delays, we can now present the long-awaited sequel:

Episode II: Dishonorable Scum of the Caribbean

Coming soon to a forum near you!

:p

Once again, one dark and stormy night Igor the Fearful found himself hurrying through the government palace of the Rogue Nation of Dishonorable Scum, obeying a summons from his master, the Unspeakable One.

Which, from Igor's perspective, was a damnably unfair turn of events.

Igor hadn't always been the Unspeakable One's Grand Vizier and chief flunky. For a brief shining moment, he'd been able to break free of his bonds of servitude. It had required his painful death, and reanimation as a seven-foot-tall demon (complete with horns and wings), but it had been well worth it. But after he had been expelled from Hell along with the rest of the nation of Dishonorable Scum, he'd been as much in need of a job as the Unspeakable One had been in need of a scapegoat. So here he was, summoned from his quite comfortable bed in the middle of the night to do the bidding of a psychotic madman with delusions of adequacy, while outside raged an intense and gratuitously theatrical thunderstorm.

He descended the steps to the Unspeakable One's laboratory in an excess of haste, hoping that he might accidentally stumble and fall, breaking his neck and permanently paralyzing himself. But he knew that his master wouldn't take that as a valid excuse for disobeying an order, so he didn't try to force the issue.

Finally he reached the deep subterranean level of the laboratory, and strode down the dimly-lit corridor towards the lab's great iron door. But as he approached, much to his surprise, two figures stepped out of the darkness, pointed machine guns at him, and yelled "Halt!"

Igor, momentarily taken aback, halted. He looked over the two creatures that guarded the laboratory door. They were each about four feet tall, with fur, long arms that nearly reached the ground, tails and wickedly sharp fangs. In fact, they bore a distinct resemblance to baboons. Except that Igor had never before seen a baboon with wings. Or wearing a military uniform, for that matter.

"Great," he said. "Flying monkeys. I really shouldn't be surprised, should I?"

"Not my concern if you're surprised or not," one of the monkeys told him. "Identify yourself and state your business!"

Igor sighed. "Grand Vizier Igor, obeying a summons from the Unspeakable One. How long has he had flying monkeys for guards?"

The monkeys shrugged, and one of them pulled out a clipboard. "First day on the job," he told Igor. "Let me see... Yeah, you're on the list. Let him in, Phil."

The other monkey pulled out a key ring, unlocked the laboratory door, and gestured for Igor to enter. Igor rolled his eyes and walked into the lab, where the Unspeakable One stood looking annoyed. Another, much larger winged monkey in a lavishly-decorated military uniform stood by his side.

"You're late," the Unspeakable One told Igor.

Igor held out his hands and said, "I got held up by your new guards. Why didn't you tell me about them, anyway?"

"No time," the Unspeakable One shot back. "I had to beef up security around here, and Marshall Bobo here happened to come along with an offer too good to pass up."

Igor raised an eyebrow, and looked at the robust winged ape. "Marshall..."

"Bobo," the monkey said, absently saluting Igor. "Commander-in-chief of the Flying Monkey nation, and now Chief of Staff to his dishonor here. Pleasure to meet you."

"Oh, I see," Igor lied. "So, you're a nation of..."

"Mercenaries," Bobo replied. "Airborne special-ops commandos. It pays the bills."

"Right," said Igor. "And why, exactly, do we need this improved security?"

"Because our nation has been granted a singular honor!" the Unspeakable One exclaimed pretentiously.

"Um, Jacob, we're supposed to be Dishonorable Scum," Igor pointed out. "Doesn't that make it a bit odd for someone to honor us?"

"Silence, you fool!" the Unspeakable One commanded. "I have just been informed that our land has been selected to host the upcoming convention of Evil Geniuses for a Better Tomorrow!"

Igor raised an eyebrow in surprise. The Unspeakable One was a long-standing, if low-ranking, member of the professional organization for psychotic dictators. But given his habit of insulting everyone on the organization's executive committee, it seemed unlikely that they would choose to honor him. "I thought Cheney was hosting it at Camp David this year," Igor objected.

"Well, he was. But there was a problem," the Unspeakable One explained. "His eligibility for membership has been called into question, and the Membership Committee is going to rule on it at the convention. It wouldn't be at all proper for him to host the convention under those circumstances."

"You mean, somebody thinks Cheney isn't evil enough?"

"No, actually, given recent events it's the 'genius' part that's up for debate."

"But the Membership Committee has made exceptions to that before."

"Oh yes," agreed the Unspeakable One. "And ironically, it was Kim Jong Il who brought up the question. Kind of delicious, isn't it?"

"The hypocrisy of your species is boundless," Bobo observed.

The Unspeakable One smiled at Bobo. "All part of what makes us human, my simian friend."

"So naturally you offered to host the convention here," Igor said.

"Exactly! With only a short time to go before the convention, they had little choice but to agree! It will be the perfect launch for my tourism project!" the Unspeakable One exclaimed, rubbing his hands together melodramatically.

Igor sighed. The "tourism project" had been the bane of his existence for months. Ever since the Rogue Nation of Dishonorable Scum had surfaced as an island in the Caribbean after its ejection from Hell, the Unspeakable One had been obsessed with turning the land into a tourist magnet. It was a difficult task, considering that the whole place was a desolate wasteland of bare rock, but Igor had worked diligently to oversee the construction of hotels, restaurants and other facilities.

"Well, we can be finished with the big hotel in a month, I guess, if we push it," Igor said.

"Not soon enough!" the Unspeakable One shouted. "The convention begins in a week!"

"A week, you say? Well," Igor said, scratching his head, "I suppose if we push the workers to the absolute limit around the clock, we can make that deadline. We'll probably have around thirty percent of them die on us, though..."

"Excellent! See to it at once!" ordered the Unspeakable One.

"Even better, the low-rent hostels are already finished," Igor added.

"You fool!" screamed the Unspeakable One. "These are powerful men and women we're talking about! Heads of state, powers behind thrones, movie studio executives, those kinds of people! We can't put them in third-rate hovels!"

"I wasn't talking about them," Igor replied. "What I mean is it should attract a lot of college students from the United States who want to come here on winter break."

"Oh, I see now," the Unspeakable One said. "Lots of young women in search of a good time! And young men, for those who prefer that sort of thing! And with our mandatory nude beaches and our lack of drug laws..."

"We'll have hordes of stoned, naked young women waiting for your Evil Genius friends," Igor said. "They'll be so high, they'll be willing to do lap dances for Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, or even Bill Gates."

"Sounds like a party," Bobo observed.

"It's ingenious!" the Unspeakable One shouted. "Igor, you've outdone yourself this time!"

"Always happy to help," Igor lied shamelessly. "The first planeload of tourists should arrive tomorrow."

"Then hurry and make sure everything is ready! Go! Go!" the Unspeakable One shouted, jumping up and down like a four-year-old with a toy fire truck. "And if anything goes wrong, I'll flay you alive, of course!"

"Of course," Igor said with a gracious bow. "Now, if you will excuse me..."

Igor exited the room hastily. He nodded to the guards outside the door, and hurried up the stairs.

Once he was sure he was out of earshot of any potential eavesdroppers, he stopped and pondered. "Wonderful," he muttered. "Now, how am I going to sabotage this?"

To be continued...

The sun was shining in a clear blue sky over the brilliant azure of the Caribbean Sea beneath the dilapidated old C-47 passenger plane. The engines misfired periodically, shaking the old airplane and not inspiring much confidence in its three passengers.

One of those passengers swore loudly. "Bro, I should never have let you talk me into this," he said to the passenger next to him.

"Whoa, Webster, dude, I don't recall having to do much talking," the other passenger said. "You were like, 'Hey, free Caribbean vacation? I'm in, dude!' And I was planning on taking Amy Summers with me."

"Oh, yeah, right, Amy Summers. Jason, you really think you ever had a shot with a babe like her?"

"What makes you think I didn't, dude?" Jason asked. "I'd just say, like, "Whoa, Amy! Free Caribbean vacation! Want to come get naked on the beach?' But no, I get stuck taking my lame-ass roommate instead."

"Yeah, like she'd want to get naked on the beach with your skinny white ass," Webster retorted.

"Oh, right, like she'd want to get naked with some chubby black guy who was named for a dwarf?"

"I was not named for that goofy TV show!" Webster protested. "Mom named me for Daniel Webster."

"Yeah, sure, dude, believe what you want," Jason said smugly. "But I think Amy would have gone for it when I told her about the free drugs."

"Man, you believed that bull about the free drugs? Ain't nobody, nowhere going to give you nothing for free, bro."

"We'll see when we get there," Jason said. "But I bet that Jamaican dude up front is the dude bringing in the stuff."

Jason pointed to the front row of the plane, where a tall, very black man with dreadlocks, wearing an expensive three-piece business suit, sat looking out the window. He hadn't even looked at the two young Americans once in the eight-hour flight from Miami.

"You think that dude is a dealer?" Webster asked.

"Well, why don't you go ask him and see?"

"What? Why me? Why don't you go ask him?"

"Because you're black, dude," Jason pointed out. "And he's black. You, like, speak the same language."

"Man, you don't know your ass from nothing, do you?"

"Dude, just go talk to the dude. Ask him what the deal is with the free drugs."

Webster grumbled, but got up and walked towards the front of the plane. He stopped next to the well-dressed man and asked, "Yo, bro. You know what the deal is about the free drugs on this island we're going to?"

The man turned and looked at Webster. He slowly bared his teeth, which Webster now noticed were all filed to sharp points.

"Do not speak to me," the man said in heavily-accented English.

"Whoa, man, don't go all Freddy Kruger on me. I was just asking..."

"Do not ever speak to me again," the man snarled.

Webster slowly backed off. "Right. Don't go talking to no freaky voodoo dude with pointy teeth. Got it. Sounds like pretty good advice to me."

He sat down in his seat next to Jason. "Jamaica ain't talking. I don't think he's Jamaican either. Sounded like something else to me."

"Bummer," Jason said. And then, "Whoa, dude, look out the window. Is that the island?"

A large expanse of barren black rock came into view out the starboard window. "Well, it's an island, anyhow," Webster said. "Not much in the way of tropical jungle, though. Looks more like something out of Hell."

"Dude, I think we're landing there. Wasn't that the wheels going down?"

"We're landing on that ugly rock?" Webster asked. "Man, I thought you said this place was a paradise."

"Uh, dude, shouldn't we be, like, putting on seat belts or something?"

"Guess so. Some flight – eight hours, no stewardesses, no food, no nothing. Please put your non-reclining seats back in the fully upright position, and make sure the tray tables this old crate doesn't have are locked. Oh, and tie the rope that passes for seat belts tight. Who the hell knows if this piece of junk will crash on landing or not?"

Somewhat to Webster's surprise, the old piece of junk made it to the ground in one piece. The runway, however, was about as smooth as the New Jersey Turnpike, and the plane rattled and bumped its way to a stop. The two young Americans grabbed their bags and headed for the exit at the rear of the plane, followed by the silent dreadlocked man.

They stepped out into a barren wasteland, without so much as a blade of grass growing. On a hill in the distance loomed a large black stone building that looked oddly like a medieval castle. Nothing resembling an airport terminal was in sight.

Their welcoming committee was equally strange. One of them looked normal enough – he was a skinny, balding man in a black suit. Next to him, though, was a tall man who looked like Darth Maul, if Darth Maul had been orange and had had wings. And the third man wasn't even a man – he looked like a winged baboon in an Army uniform.

"That's it?" screamed the skinny man. "Three passengers? All men? Igor, you promised me hordes of wild women!"

"Calm down, Jacob," the Darth Maul look-alike said. "It's just the first flight. I'm sure there will be more people arriving in the next few days."

"Whoa, dude, you mean there's not any naked women?" Jason asked.

"Damn you, Igor, this is your fault!" the skinny man screamed. "You'd better get me some women on these beaches by the end of the week, or I'll have your head for a soup bowl!"

"Bet there's not any free drugs, either," Webster said unhappily.

The pointy-toothed passenger said nothing. He merely looked around, grunted, and then strode off, headed for a small group of huts visible on the shore.

The skinny man and Igor walked off towards the castle, with the skinny man still screaming threats at the tall orange demon. Meanwhile, the winged monkey was looking thoughtful.

"Dude, what's the deal with this place?" Jason asked the monkey. "I was told there would be naked women on the beaches."

The monkey nodded. "Leave it to me," he said. "I'll have some here by tomorrow afternoon." And then he flapped his wings strongly, rose into the air, and flew off towards the castle.

"Bro, this is one weird place you brought me to," Webster said.

"Man, this place has to have some great drugs," Jason answered. "How else could anyone stand to live in this hellhole?"

To be continued...

Igor headed towards his office, humming happily to himself. "So far, so good," he muttered to himself.

When he strode into his office, he abruptly stopped humming, and his jaw nearly dropped to the floor in surprise. A tall, slender man in scarlet robes was seated in Igor's chair, with his feet propped up on the desk.

"Hello, Igor", the man said, speaking with a sinister Spanish accent.

"Why – Torquemada! I mean, Your Dishonor!" Igor sputtered. "When did you get here?"

Torquemada smiled. "I was on the plane. Invisible, but there."

"Oh, I see," Igor lied, intensely worried about the sudden appearance of his former boss. Igor had worked for the Spaniard in Hell; Torquemada was Chief Inquisitor for the Infernal government. For a time, Igor had been one of Torquemada's favorite agents, until there had been an unfortunate incident that caused the entire land of Dishonorable Scum to be ejected from Hell, and Igor along with it. Igor had been dreading the possibility of repercussions ever since. "So, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit? Have you come here for a vacation?"

Torquemada snorted. "Hardly. No, I'm here on business."

"Um, if it's about that business about this place being kicked out of Hell..."

"Actually, that is what it's about," Torquemada answered. "His Infernal Majesty wasn't too pleased about the way that whole incident was handled."

"But, um, that was your doing, if I remember rightly."

Torquemada sighed. "Unfortunately, that's the way His Infernal Majesty saw it too. I managed to get out of Hell just ahead of the demons he sent to arrest me."

"Oh," Igor said. And then, "Oh!" looking relieved. "You mean, you're here because you need a place to hide!"

"Something like that," Torquemada said. "I don't suppose you have any open positions for a man of my talents?"

Igor smiled. "Tomas – you don't mind if I call you Tomas, do you?"

Torquemada shrugged. "Looks like you're the boss. Yes?"

"Yes, it looks like I am," Igor said happily. "And I have just the thing for you. I'm desperately in need of an intelligence chief. I got blindsided when Jacob hired those flying monkeys, and I can't let that happen again."

"Yes, I saw Bobo out there with His Dementedness," Torquemada said. "I've heard quite a bit about him and his people. They're not apes to be underestimated. So, I take it you have some sort of scheme in mind that the Unspeakable One doesn't know about?"

Igor nodded. "You noticed your fellow passengers, I take it?"

"You mean the two American stoners and the silent Jamaican? They were rather hard to miss."

"They're all here at my invitation," Igor said. "The two young men are... well, let's call them guinea pigs."

"Guinea pigs?" Torquemada asked, smiling evilly. "That does sound intriguing. So what are you testing on them?"

"Oh, a little something I brought back with me from Hell," Igor answered. "Let me show you..."

To be continued...

Oh God, you're hilarioushttp://img232.imageshack.us/img232/6852/igor9ne.png (http://imageshack.us)My version of Igor