Quote: ...two weeks ago, playboy millionaire and adventurer extraordinaire Red 5 (regarded in some circles as Jacob Ison, Baron Von Fiehve, and The Artist Formerly Known As Pi-Plus-Two) was declared dead by the local authorities of Peru during a helicopter skirmish over their waters. Mr. 5 has been thought dead some odd nine times previous to now, and while the holders of his vast estate shows no sign of belief in the Peruvian claim, his literary agent thinks now would be as good a time as any to put forward the autobiography of Red's colourful and exotic life which was only to be published posthumously. Since the distinguished Red is probably even now washing ashore with a devillish glint in his eyes and a woman in his hands, we decided to just throw a few juicy excerpts out into the field rather than risk offending the three-time judo world champion with the full publication of his masterpiece. Here now, Red 5 in "This Story"...
Chapter III
...Inga waved the gun in my direction, and with that single motion of her hand I realized then and there that it was truly over. The demented plans of Doctor Mhirage, kidnapper of my parents, had come to pass with the succesful testing of the hypno-ray on my beloved beau. She was under HIS command now, and we would never again share the sweaty sex which had marked our short yet blissfull pairing. We had loved, yes, and now we would have lost, my life and her mind having been shattered by the evil schemes of our equally hated enemy.
I tensed, readying myself for the forward tackle of her gun-wielding hand. We'll always have those nine hours of coital bliss back in Paris, I thought, as I took my chances and leapt forward into destiny...
Chapter V
...and that's when I suddenly realized that life was well and truly good, if only for the moment. That little business out in Europe may have scarred me emotionally, but I had moved past that and into greater, deeper things. The months spent in seclusion with my Shaolin mentors had given me a chance to heal, to focus my mind and body into the powerful weapon that I always knew they could be. I would miss Inga, the way she laughed, the way she sighed in her sleep, the way her boobies suppled when she awoke. But life went on, and for now, sitting in the mansion of my lion-hunting African poacher grandfather with my loyal manservant at my side, life was good.
The phone rang. It was Codename X-Zero-Zero. Yes, I could fly up to Washington in the morning. This evening, you say? Uncorked bottle of champagne sitting on her table, dinner for two already prepared? And maybe......breakfast?
Time to go. I headed for the 5-cave on the secret 5-elevator, hoping to use the 5-jet to reach the 5-hotel in the next 5-minutes....
Chapter VII
..."Do you expect me to talk?" I spat out with a thick Irish brogue clogging my voicebox. He looked at me from across the room, smiled once, and then said, "No, Mr. Five, I expect you to die."
Chapter VII
...I'd escaped from the laser-castration trap a mere five minutes ago, and already the Nazi death squads were on my trail. The Hawaiian foliage and fauna provided a good background for my camoflauge shirt to match. It had been stuck on that setting since I tried to do my own laundry, and at last that little mishap had paid off.
It was up to me to get off this deathtrap of an island and back to the mainland, or else the entire free world was doomed. Up to me to save the world. Again. What is this, the twenty-sixth time...
Chapter X
...well, doesn't that just beat all. No water, no food, no provisions of any sort. And if this Russian spaceship doesn't work, I'll be stuck on the moon forever...
Chapter XI
...She glared at me from across the desk. I took a slight breath, then smiled and asked to see her supervisor. She took another dark, gloomy glare at me, and then asked ME what the hell my business was with the President Of The United States. I took another breath, reminded myself that those involved with the Castro coupe had every right to use the secret underground entrance , and told her the truth. She gave me a look that froze the piping hot jizz in my genitals and told me that the President sure as hell doesn't ask some dandy in a frigging Hawaiian shirt to consult with him concerning diplomatic procedure with Kazakhistan. And even if he did, he sure wouldn't do it over a round of golf.
I tried to turn on the charm and weedle myself an audience with the leader of the free world, but somehow I just couldn't find the nerve. She was direct, forthright, and brunette. Everything I ever wanted in a woman. Even as she completely ignored every aspect of my award-winning self, I knew that we were destined to be together.
Only problem was, this fair beauty didn't seem willing to give me the time of day. I tried to make small talk, to crack a smile from those dainty lips and pearl-white teeth, but she just wasn't going to stand to have me in her awesome prescence any longer. She called security.
I gave her a last long look as they started to escort me away. Those legs, that face, those curves. The little mole on her neck, that tiny mark on her cheek. And there was more to her than that. I could see the diploma from Harvard, the citation from Yale, even the reflection of her husband's photograph in her golden wedding band.
I tried to drop it. I well and truly tried. And for a moment there, I think I had almost gotten over her. But just when we were out the door, she turned her head up from her paperwork, looked me straight in the eye, and spoke the words that defined my life from then on in.
"I'll show you in."
Security let go of me, and we stepped into the Oval Office. It was empty. Turned out the President was in the situation room with the Castro coupe team and would be there all morning. Lucky for us, really.
Because we had hot, sweaty sex right there on his desk.
Quote: ...as of this moment, Red 5 has been confirmed to be alive when footage of him was captured on satellite having a vicious swordfight with zombies on the left wing of a stealth bomber over Haiti. We are receiving information as of this time that updates the status of the woman in his arms boobies to that of a D-Cup, and that he is also wearing his trademark Hawaiian shirt with the proud dignity of an Olympic-level athlete, world famous secret agent, self-made millionaire, and porn star.
And to the real Red 5, who willingly bares his experiences in well-written monolouges at Nightly.net with the sort of gracefull intelligence and ease of expression that canadian moosemen such as myself can only dream about, I'm sorry. And I proudly join the many others who so desperately want to be you it freezes icecold the jizz in their genitals...
no disrespect meant towards Red 5, Dr. Mhirage, the James Bond book and film franchise, Nazi death squads, Shaolin mentors, the moon, The President Of The United States, or canadian moosemen. any resemblance to actual occurences are entirely coincidental and most likely the fault of an imbalance in your destiny liver. The characters and events used within "This Story" are entirely fictional.
Quote: Only a mere two days after his swamp of tv appearances carefully explaining his pivotal role in the Cuban nuclear disaster do we now find ourselves in the sad, repetitive position of declaring Red 5 missing and presumed dead. His twentieth disappearance thus far in his long, illustrious career as secret agent, billionaire playboy, and fireman may fill us with grief, but come on, he's coming back! We're sure of it! He's like, fucking Jesus, man! Always returns from the grave! So what if he was surrounded by robotic death-androids with programming directives of "kill-kill-kill" in the molten pits of Sarajevo Island? So what if that nazi superwoman was seducing him to his syphilitic death in their one room suite in Florence? I don't give a damn about the asteroid locked onto his GPS signal through the gravo-magnetic machinations of Professor Dastardly! He's alive, fuck you! He's ALIVE!
Quote: In any case, here's more long overdue excerpts from his acclaimed autobiography "This Story". If it's ever published in it's entirety, it's sure to join his many other highly recommended Nobel & Pulitzer prize winning works such as "World Peace : How I Would Dun' Do It" and "Sexcapades!" Read, enjoy, and masturbate with caution.
Chapter II
...Okay, I admit it. I had sex with pretty much all the cast of that new Charlie's Angels remake at one time or another. Diaz was before she got famous (in fact, my longtime friendship with that Canadian cousin of mine, Jim Carrey, landed her a debut part in one of those movies I co-directed, might have been "The Mask"), she just called herself Cammie back then. It was a little fling, one night stand, that sort of thing. Drew Barrymore was actually quite recent, and I'm rather sorry for poor Tom Green's sake. I told her it would be better to forgive and forget, not get that divorce, but she wouldn't hear of it. Ah well. Lisa Lui, I don't really remember all that much, but at least I have the photographs. The creepy assassin man, whathisname, played George McFly, well, yeah. Him too. And I had phone sex with Charlie...
Chapter III
...The parachute was stuck tight. Wait, it wasn't even a parachute at all. The Power Rangers design on the front of the kid's backpack should have given it away when I jumped out of the plane, but I was too preoccupied from the minutes-gone Mile High Nookie in the cockpit with Marilyn. I always had a thing for pilots.
Crud. I had left my emergency jetpack at the shop for repair. The teleportation device I found in that futurepod had run out of power years ago, and my pet pterodactyl was at the Chicago Zoo for the winter. I had nothing at my beck and call that could save from hurtling towards the South Pacific at speeds that would split my body from end to end.
But, what about those special condompacks I factory ordered last year to accommodate my own exceptional size and girth? Rigged together, maybe, just maybe....
Chapter VI
...I'd never been buried alive before. Those goddamn morticians should have recognized my zen Yogi trance for what it was, and I smelled lawsuit. It'd been a while since I'd defended myself in court, but I was familiar with the basic statutes. They'd pay for stuffing my beautiful body with embalming fluid, oh they'd pay.
But first, how to get out of here? I flipped open my wristwatch radio, and hoped it would penetrate the six feet of hard ground between it and open sky. I hoped in vain. Resigning myself to the task at hand, I started digging...
Chapter VII
...I snuck out of the bedroom, intent on getting some coffee and breakfast rolls into my stomach. Food in the student dormitories of this Catholic Girl's school was strictly forbidden, and whenever possible, I respected the teacher's wishes. I'd have to go to the cafeteria, but it was surely locked at this time of night. As I padded down the carpeted hallway to my destination, I discovered I was right. My stomach growled, a low rumble which I quickly fine-tuned into an E Sharp. Glad that my complete mastery of bodily music was still in shape, I pulled out my mini lock pick from out of my boxers' pocket and went to work. Two minutes later, the door swung open and breakfast awaited me.
Deciding to break the rules just this once, I brought back the coffeepot to Room 49. The girls had achieved excellent grades all year round and I felt they deserved it. Swinging the door open, I playfully waved at my sleeping beauties and set the coffee down on the desk. The night had been wonderful, but we had gotten no rest, and they were wisely catnapping before morning classes began.
Thanks to that special repeal of all known laws restricting my sexual prowess, I could do this sort of thing regularly. God bless you, Mister President, I couldn't live without these regular visits to my uniformed muses.
They started to stir. Smiling devilishly, I poured the coffee...
Chapter XII
...I'd like to set the record straight. When the Swedish Olympic swim team invites you into their changing room for celebratory drinks, you don't say no. I certainly didn't...
Chapter XIII
... She didn't fool me one bit. That judo stance in the hallway when we were attacked by those Russian agents, her strange expertise with firearms, and her choice of lipstick, they all confirmed my suspicions. She was more than just a simple clerk for the State Department, Sextitia Lovelips was definitely a spy for a foreign power. Which one? China had been making noises as of late, perhaps she had been recruited when she vacationed there in the spring. Where the South Asian rebels behind all this? Was it a faction within our own government? I had no answers.
But I couldn't betray her to my superiors. They had no regards for the subjects of my frequent sexual liaisons, they'd kill her as soon as they had a reason. Could I live with that? Could I live with the object of my squirming, sweaty love dying in the name of national security? No, I couldn't. She may have done wrong, but Lovelips was my comrade in battle and more importantly, in the bedroom. I'd protect her with my life, if need be.
I'd planted the tracer on her this morning. My own personal telecommunications satellite was tracking her every move, correlating and cross-referencing her location with it's lengthy computer files. If something rang a warning bell, I'd know.
Maybe I could supply her with money, smuggle her out of the country? No. That fair skin would crack under Mexico's fierce sun, her low voice would grow brittle and throaty, her high heels would be abandoned or sold for donkey passage. I must protect my beauty, even if she was an enemy agent. I mulled over her distinct character traits. She had an insane fear of pullover covers, loathed bowties, and insisted on making love only in the dark. Where these three clues connected? Did her sordid past contain a scarring incident wherein a bowtie salesman ravaged her in broad daylight beneath pullover covers? What was going on?
I smoked, awaiting her return. Where had she gone? She had muttered something in that strange voice of hers, of shopping and "those fucking bowties". Was she insane? Was I?
It was only then that I noticed the note, clipped to my hand pressed Hawaiian shirt. I read it tearfully, and applauded her for the bravery she exhibited by telling me the truth before I found out.
Sextitia Lovelips was a Chinese spy, yes, but she was also a man. Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.
Quote: He's alive now. Riding across the great American plains on horseback, stark naked, and surrounded by savage Indians. There's something about an atomic threat, and women with hooters. I just want it all to be OVER.
Yours truly,
Faithful Publisher and Sometimes Lover
Lotta Boobie
Sex on demand, people! Sex on demand!Edited by: The Ray at: 4/14/02 1:51:55 am
Suck it, Mike Myers.
I can't wait to read about the incident with Dr. Atom, the yacht chase, the lusty Ms. Petra Chestoviac, and the secret armada of nucleotronic destructopods.
Natar The Terrible Secret of Space
(4/22/02 10:18 pm) Reply
Oh, Betty!
It speaks volumes of truth in the form of false accounts of events that never really happened.
I had a signature once, but then I wondered... what's the point?
Tom Jones inspires most of my posts these days, it seems. T H U N D E R D R O I D
starring Red 5 in the title role
JUDI DENCH as Bernard Lee
BERNARD LEE as Moneypenny
DESMOND LLEWELYN as Felix Leiter, Russian Agent
ERNST STAVRO BLOFEFELD as Dr. No
ASTON MARTIN DB5 as itself, plus assoc. producer credit
SEAN CONNERY as Samantha Bond
ROGER MOORE as Sean Connery
GEORGE LAZENBY as Roger Moore
DIANA RIGG as Emma Peel, Avenger
JOHN DE LANCIE as Q
Quote: T H U N D E R D R O I D, billed overseas as RED 5 : CODENAME THUNDERDROID as well as THE DOOMBOT THAT GATHERED STORMS, is largely derived from the birdwatching novels of Ian Fleming and the acclaimed animated series "James Bond Junior". The use of such copyrighted materials has been obtained through bribery, thanks to generous donations from playboy millionaire and owner of many stately manors, Jacob Ison. We'd like to take the oppurtunity to thank him at this time for his overall cementing of the Hollywood lifestyle into his daily routine, as well as for those hookers he sent us as a parting gift. Rock on, Feihvel, rock on!
He always runs, while others walk.
He acts while other men just talk.
He looks down edge, and jumps the void,
As he strikes, like Thunderdroid!
He knows the meaning of success.
His needs are more so he gives less.
They call him the jobseeker that's employed
As he strikes, like Thunderdroid!
Max Power, he's the man who's name you'd love to touch!
His name sounds good in your ear,
but when you say it, you mustn't fear!
'Cause his name can be said by anyone!
His days of asking are all gone.
His travels goes on and on and on.
But he smiles and snaps a Polaroid
As he strikes, like Thunderdroid!
Quote: Enthusiastic fans of THUNDERDROID should be sure to check out the 1983 unofficial remake, NEVER SAY PEPPER AGAIN. Red 5 will return in THE MAN WITH THE HAWAIIAN SHIRT, GOLDIAMONDTHUMBFINGER, and OCTOPUSSYGALORE. The usual commendations to his distinquished person apply, and I'd just like to mention that "this never happened to the other guy".
That's fantagamous!
How much for the movie rights?
Very amusing and funny.
Suck it, Mike Myers.
Mommy? That's not Daddy you're dancing with!
Hornblower
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