The Continuing Adventures of Don Wan Tu (New Chapter!)

[Mr. Coffee]

Thanks again for the support, everyone. Enjoy the story!


Chapter Five: But Mom, all the other Gods are doing it too!


Office of the Universal Spirit Of Creation


“Hi, Mom, great to see you,” I said. “No hug?”

Yeah, I know. Some of you are questioning the sanity of smartassing a being that can create entire universes with a stray thought. No one ever accused me of sanity, so I guess it evens out. And I really did want a hug…

Did I mention that one of my many hobbies is poking rabid caged badgers with a stick?

“Don Wan Tu, I’ve been receiving complaints from other members of the Pantheon concerning your actions,” Mom said, that eerie inner light pulsing slightly as She spoke.

“Awww, Mom, it can’t be all that bad…”

“Willfully interfering in the worship activities of another PM’s worshipers,” She said, reading from a list of offenses that flashed into being in Her hand. “Most recently, bringing Testiclese into contact with a highly fundamentalist member of the Christian clergy…”

“Oh, come on, Mom,” I interrupted. Yeah, discretion and me don’t seem to get along well. “Fartwell deserved it!”

“Corrupting worshipers of Islam with Emo Blogging,” She continued without so much as batting a perfectly shaped eye in my direction, reading from that list that seemed to get longer by the second. She gave a faint wave of Her hand and the list vanished. “I could continue, but if I did we’d be here for quite some time.”

“And now we’ve got fundamentalists from two Earth’s major planetary religions about to go to war over a breakfast beverage, a beverage you created I might add, because of your actions,” She paused as if listening to something…


Mossad Headquarters, Israel


“Alright, we’ve received intelligence from the Americans on the A.F.A.R.T. terrorist’s location,” Urial Goldstein said to the assembled strike team. “In case this Don Wan Tu character fails, we are to go in and destroy the camp and eliminate Hassan Bin Laid.”

“What’s our cover,” asked one of the strike team members.

“We’re going in as investment bankers looking to invest in a Havibillion oil venture,” Urial supplied.

“What if we get caught? Wouldn’t that jeopardize our relations with the Americans if Israeli agents were caught acting on behalf of them against Islamic fundamentalists inside the boarders of a Moslem nation based on intelligence garnered by the Americans? I mean wouldn’t it seem as if we were acting as puppets for the Americans and further add proof to Arab cries of an Israeli-American World Zionist Conspiracy,” another member of the team asked.

“That’s above my pay grade,” Urail said.

“More likely the hack that’s writing this is ignoring that so he can us Israel as a random plot device,” the other agent muttered. Suddenly he felt the icy hands of death reaching for his neck.

“Not that I mind being a plot device in this absolutely wonderful tail of the heroic struggles of Don Wan Tu. In fact, this shit’s better then Hemmingway,” the agent blurted out. The clammy handed doom receded from his neck.

“Do we get to keep the frequent flier miles for this mission, sir,” another agent asked.

Urail ignored the question. Instead he pulled a map out and spread it across the large table in the briefing room. He then pulled out a pointer. “We’ll enter Undisclosedlocationstan here…”


Office of the Universal Spirit Of Creation


“Make that three of Earth’s major religions,” She finished. “Don Wan Tu, I’ve been very lenient concerning your shenanigans in the past, but this time your disregard for the Pantheon’s laws concerning Earth threaten to unbalance the work of every God that works there.”

“It can’t be that bad, Mom. I’ve done worse then introducing people to blogging, like that time I got that German monk Marty hammered and told him to tack that parchment to a church door, ow…” my train of thought was interrupted by Testiclese surreptitiously kicking me in the leg. Yeah, the Reformation was my fault too. I meant it as a prank, but Martin Luther took it as a sign from God (which I suppose technically it was), after he sobered up and decided to run with the idea. Those wacky Germans… But I digress.

“You’re not helping your case by recalling such antics, Don Wan Tu,” Mom continued while Testiclese gave me a look that said ‘Would you please shut the hell up before she negates both of us’.

“Well, what am I supposed to do about it? I can’t help it if G-Diddy and Allah can’t keep their people under control, Mom.”

“Don Wan Tu, you have one week to solve the problem you have created,” Mom declared. “If you fail to do so your manifestation privileges will be revoked for five Earth centuries.”

”Oh, come on, Mom! Five centuries for a prank,” I exclaimed, half coming out of my chair in protest.

“Don Wan Tu, given the level of how badly your ‘prank’ has backfired, and your history of flagrantly ignoring our laws and customs to suit your childish whims, I think I am being very lenient just by giving you the chance to make things right,” She said, slamming back into my seat with negligent flick of her dainty little hand. “One week, seven earth days, Don Wan Tu. Restore the balance or you will pay the price for your actions.”

Ouch. Having your manifestation privileges revoked was basically like being grounded for a god. Without being able to manifest our will in the physical world you were reduced to being a spectator. It’s kind of like being locked in a room with no windows and your only contact with the outside world is a TV that only shows cable news networks. It also meant for five centuries I wouldn’t be able to have my coffee, play videogames, or invent really obnoxious ways for people to waste time.

Last time I’d been de-manifestized (Yeah, it’s not a real word, chalk it up to deity’s privilege. I own at scrabble, better then having the entire Oxford English Dictionary memorized), Dizzy and me had managed to get ourselves temp-banned from Earth for one thousand years over the dinosaur debacle. See, we were roaming around what’s now Colorado and Dizzy caught this T-Rex staring up her skirt, rude words were exchanged, things got out of hand… Long story short, she threw a hissy (and an asteroid), and it was bye-bye dinosaurs. Mom was pretty pissed.

Luckily the following millennium was pretty boring anyways. In fact, things were pretty slow until humans popped up.

“I’ll try my best, Mom,” I said, resigning myself to actually having to accomplish something.

“Very well, Don Wan Tu. You both leave now,” She said, waving Her hand.


Don Wan Tu’s Apartment, Central West End, St. Louis, Missouri


The couch gave a groan as both my butt and Testiclese’s landed on it. Everything was as I left it, the TV was on, X-Box running, and I could hear the voices of different gamers over the headset. I could also smell burning coffee as I’d left a pot on the burner. I lit a smoke and turned to Testiclese.

“Well, T, seems like we’re in deep shit now,” I said.

“What do you mean ‘we’, Don? Mom said this was your problem,” Testiclese replied, looking at me as if I’d gone stark raving mad.

“Come on, T, I need some back up on this.”

“Last time you said that I got blamed for the Village People, Don,” he said to me. “I’ll go along this time, but at the first sign of a cop, a construction worker, an Indian, a biker, and a sailor, I’m out faster than Ellen Degeneres jumping from a closet.”

“T, don’t be like that, man,” I said. A plan was forming in my head and I’d need Testiclese’s rather unique abilities to make it work. “I mean, what’s the worst that could happen?”

“The mind boggles, Don.”

[Elheru Aran]

Heh. Very nice. Please to continue...

[Singular Quartet]

It's the end of the world as we know it, it's the end of the world as we know it, and I feel fine... I feel fine...

Because REM suits all occasions, and this is definately an occasion worth being suited.

[JME2]

Ahahaha! Keep it up!

[darthdavid]

You kick inordinate ammounts of ass. Keep writing or I take away your coffee.

[Ford Prefect]

Mr Coffee, you win the Internet!

[Dakarne]

Brilliant...

I like how it breaks the fourth wall on occaision.

[WyrdNyrd]

I shall now "Do A Dakarne":

Me like, too! Keep it up!

[Mr. Coffee]

Ok... I'm having a bit of writer's block going on here. So I would like you, the reader to decide on who the next chapter will focus on.

Will it be the Diabolical forces of AFART?

Will it be Don finding more allies (Or distractions) for his quest to save the Holy Bean?

Will Don hook up with Dizzy, Diggem, and Mike and get piss roaring drunk?

Other?

I'm in the mood for a "Fan's Request" sort of chapter.

[LadyTevar]

Diabolical forces.

[Mr. Coffee]

Sorry for the loooooooong wait on this on, folks. I could use the standard excuse of “had some things come up and life can be a pain, blah blah blah”, but instead I’ll level with you. I forgot. Yeah… Kinda lame, but true. My Shiny Object Syndrome kicked in hard and I completely and totally blanked. I would go and take my life in shame, but then who’d write chapter seven in another six or eight months? Just kidding. I promise to get back to work on this story now.

On a side note, this was originally planed to be the “Musical Episode”, but I’m not very musically inclined (Which is an understatement. I’ve been told a cat in heat can carry a better tune then I can…). But, I did do this little bit just for shits and giggles…

*Sung to the tune of Gilligan’s Island Theme*

Just sit right back and you’ll read a tale,
A tale of by a forgetful prick,
Who hasn’t posted on this since,
Last August cause he’s a dick.

The tiny plot was almost gone,
It’s storyline almost tossed,
If not for my girlfriend and a few fan’s too,
Then Don Wan Tu’s story would be lost…

The story would be lost…

With Don Wan Tu!
A gay god named Testicles!
The President and his wife!
Evil Arab terrorists!
And the Mother of Creation too!

Here in Don Wan Tu’s next chapter!
(Yeah, that last bit didn’t quit rhyme…)


Chapter Six: Jihad me at hello…

“Organized Religion, Government, and the Mob are all protection rackets. The Church says “give us money and we’ll get ya into heaven”. The Government says “give us money so we can provided an orderly society with services for you”. At Least the Mob is honest about it. They’ll say, “Give us money or Guido here breaks yer legs…” - Mr. Walsh, my High School Civics Teacher.


Don Wan Tu’s Apartment, Central West End, St. Louis, Missouri


So there I was, Testiclese to my right, and Mom’s ultimatum staring me in the face.

No, I mean it was seriously staring me in the face. Mom was thoughtful enough to leave one of those snazzy Hallmark cards that said, “Restore the balance or you’re grounded for five hundred years, you wayward schmuck. Love, Mom.”

“She has really pretty handwriting,” Testicles said, reading over my shoulder.

So I had seven days to stop the confrontation between three major religions, keep AFART from destroying all the coffee on Earth, and rescue St. Valdez. I needed a plan. So I lit up a cigarette, grabbed a controlled and started playing HALO II.

“Don, we’ve got more important things to do than play videogames.”

“Yeah, but this helps me think of bold and daring plans, T. Cop a squat and grab a controller,” I replied, tossing him a controller.


Meanwhile, in sunny Undisclosedlocationstan™ (A wholly owned subsidiary of Havabillion INC.)


“Let me get this right, Akmed,” Sheik Hassin Bin Laid said to his Most Favored Lackey while Juan Valdez listened from his chair in the corner. “Some evil Zionist in Alabama wrote an Israeli hit team into the story now? And he made a joke involving Allah golfing with the Infidel’s God four chapters back?”

“I thought that was kind of funny, senior,” Juan said from his rather comfortable Laz-e-boy. Sure, the AFART people had told him they would behead him eventually, but they were considerate enough to make sure he was comfortable until then.

“SILENCE, INFIDEL,” Bin laid and his Board of Lackeys shouted in unison. Juan merely shrugged and went back to reading the copy of the National Inquirer they had given him.

“We must find and kill this evil Zionist author,” screeched the Vice Most Favored Lackey in Charge of Mindless Retaliation Against Imaginary Insults. Suddenly the VMFCMRAII felt the icy hands of doom reach through time and space for him. “What I meant to say is we should understand that he was only poking a little bit of harmless fun and we should hail his writings as a new tool with which to spread understanding and cooperation between ourselves and the Zionists, err… The West.”

The icy hands of doom receded, but not before giving VMFCMRAII a vicious wedgie.

“This can mean only one thing…”

“Paramount will hire this mysterious Zionist Author to write the first season on another mindlessly stupid Star Trek series?”

“No… It means Don Wan Tu is about to walk right into our trap!”


Durkadurka International Airport, Baggabagga, Undisclosedlocationstan™ (A wholly owned subsidiary of Havabillion Inc.)


“Howdy, folks! Any of y’all seen some terrorists around here,” President Doofy asked the reporters gathered at the steps leading down from Air Force One.

“Mr. President, can you confirm the rumors of you and Secretary Mice having an affair,” asked one of the reporters.

“How dare you make such a hien… heneous… heenus? Why the heck you got to say bad things like that,” Doody yelled at the offending reporter. He gave a nod to two burly young men in black suits. “You must be one of them Terrorists I’m lookin’ for. Have fun at Camp X-ray!”

“Mr. President, you can’t send a reporter to Camp X-ray for asking a question,” exclaimed another reporter. “What about Freedom of the Press?!”

“What about it? I’m the leader of the Free World, so that means y’all got to do what I tell ya too,” President Doody proclaimed as he skipped down the red carpet leading away from Air Force One. “Hail to the Chief, I’m the Chief so you must hail me…”

“Sir, you’re the leader of the free world for Christ’s sake. Try and act like it,” Growled Ducksfeld. “How the hell did those vultures find out where Undisclosedlocationstan™ was?”

Everyone stopped and stared long and hard at Karl Grove.

“Never mind that, Ducky, we need to go round up these AFART guys already,” Doody said after whacking Grove with a rolled up newspaper. The President donned something that looked a lot like a Batman mask from a child’s Halloween costume. “Quickly! To the Presidentmobile!”

“Sir, we don’t have a ‘Presidentmobile”, Ducksfeld said with a look of disgust.

Doody pulled out a wear worn copy of a Batman comic book and looked at it, muttering, “Where does he get them wonderful toys?”

The White Zone If For the Loading And Unloading Of Passengers At Durkadurka International Airport, Baggabagga, Undisclosedlocationstan™ (A wholly owned subsidiary of Havabillion Inc.)


“Urail, are you sure we shouldn’t rent a car,” one of the Mossad Agents asked. “I mean, it would certainly be safer than riding in a random taxi.”

“The field guide says we will blend in better this way,” Urail said, adjusting the suit jacket of his Objective Interim Business Suit Battle Dress Uniform w/ Mk.109 Combat Briefcase. “Now shut up and help me hail a cab.”

No sooner that the nervous impulse went from Urail’s brain to tell his lungs to inhale so he could whistle loudly for a cab, the Mossad Strike team was inundated by a swarm of be-robed and be-bearded men, each proclaiming that his cab was the fastest in the land.

“What now, Oh Great Leader,” another of the strike team asked sarcasticly. One of the cabbies pushed his way through the throng. The strike team eyed the man, wearily waiting for the man to attack.

“Pay no heed to these unworthy assbaggers, good sirs,” The man, whose robe was slightly nicer then the others said as the rest of the cabby’s started scurrying away. “My cab is fastest and I know shortcuts!”

“Um, right. Can you get us to the Howard Johnson,” Urail asked.

“Most certainly,” the man exclaimed, rapidly snatching their luggage and stuffing it into an old VW minibus that looked like it held together by duct tape and the Force. He then waved the strike team aboard.

Osalad Bin Tosser, the Vice Most Favored Lackey In Charge Of Hostage Procurement could barely stifle his glee as he put the beat up minibus into drive.

“Please be fastening your seat belts!”


The Office Of The Universal Spirit Of Creation.


The Spirit of Universal Creation, better known as Mom to her children, looked down on the shitstorm that was gather down on Earth, gazing from Undisclosedlocationstan to Don Wan Tu's apartment and back. She frowned as she saw that glazed look Don usually gets in his eyes when his mind is about to form a plan.

"Susan, cancel my appointments for the afternoon," She called out to her secretary.

"Mother, you're needed in Universe One-Alpha-Seven-Two-Two to initiate the start of life on a distant backwater planet," Susan reminded Her.

"Never mind that shit, Susan," Mom said, slightly annoyed. "It appears I may lose the Office Pool on Don after all..."

[JME2]

AHAHAHAHA. It lives and you've still got it, my friend!

[Singular Quartet]

FUCKING EXCELLENT.

[Redleader34]

This guy needs his own adult swim show, I mean the feel is just perfectly Trivial.