Categories > Original > Humor > The Book of Hondo
LOST: Red and green Yoshi. Answereth to the name Mayor Quimby. Do not attempt to embezzle on thine own. Get thee some help.
Thou art reading the Book of Hondo. Now back to the story:
And it came to pass that the Dudes were cruising down the highway with their stereo blasting, and Fuct the Politically Correct Faerie was complaining about all the bad words in the songs.
‘Wilt thou please turn that off?’ quoth Fuct.
‘What wouldst thou have us listen to?’ quoth an exasperated Casey.
‘What about Madonna, or maybe N’Sync?’ Fuct didst suggest.
‘Dost thou really listen to that crap?’ quoth Dirty Uncle Orty.
‘Please loseth that commode-mouth,’ quoth Fuct. ‘And what’s wrong with N’Sync?’
‘Ye know,’ quoth Jennifer, ‘most of those guys don’t even make their own songs.’
‘Yes they do!’ cried Fuct. ‘I heareth them on the radio all the time.’
‘Now thou knoweth why Scoot doth not listen to the radio,’ quoth Adria.
‘Hast thou ever heard of pitch-correctors?’ asked McBean. ‘Most lip-sync, for they sucketh so much.’
‘I don’t believe it!’ quoth Myles the Unbeliever.
‘Lies! Lies!’ cried Fuct. ‘Nori doth always tell me the same thing! Now, we shalt go over the basic concepts of Political Correctness again, as thou hast already seemed to have forgotten them.
‘If thou intendeth to succeed in this world, thou canst not run around saying things which offendeth people.’
‘Even if ’tis the truth?’ quoth RJ.
‘Especially if ’tis the truth,’ quoth Fuct. ‘Remember, thou shouldst never let the world see the real thou…’
And it came to pass whilst Fuct was giving her lecture about the Importance of Conformity, that a police car didst come upon them with flashing lights and sirens.
So the Dudes didst pull over.
And the Sheriff didst break one of their taillights, and rip off their ‘Fuck Authority’ bumper sticker whilst several more cruisers didst pull up.
‘Okay,’ quoth Fuct, ‘for once try to remembereth the things which I have taught thee. Please, no donut jokes. No oinking— Casey, I am looking in thy direction…’
‘License and registration,’ quoth the Sheriff, for he was a man of considerable girth. ‘Thou knoweth the drill.’
‘But thou knoweth who we art,’ quoth Casey. ‘As the Beige Knight of Hondo, I demandeth to know why thou hast stopped us.’
‘We have been searching for the Dudes for some time,’ quoth the Sheriff. ‘If thou’rt doing nothing wrong, then thou wouldst not mind if we doth look in thy trunk.’
‘Jennifer?…’ quoth the Dudes as they didst look at her in unison, for she was the High Priestess of Hondo.
‘We shalt look anyway, since we have a warrant,’ quoth the Sheriff.
‘Warrant?’ cried RJ. ‘For what?’
‘Hey!’ cried Fuct. ‘What art thou doing? What hath happened to our civil rights?’
‘ ’Tis called the Status Quo…’ quoth McBean.
‘This must be some kind of misunderstanding,’ quoth Fuct. ‘Dudes, I think we shouldst not fight them, for that wouldst be bad. Surely if we surrendereth, they might be gracious enough to—’
‘Thou shalt respect mine authori-tah!’ cried the Sheriff as he didst haul out his flyswatter.
And such was the end of Fuct the Politically Correct Faerie. And there was much rejoicing.
‘We have a warrant for the arrest of the Dudes,’ quoth the Sheriff. ‘Thou shalt tell us where Scoot the Ko’An is!’
‘Look thee no further. I am Scoot the Ko’An,’ quoth McBean.
‘No. I am Scoot the Ko’An!’ cried Casey.
‘No, I am Scoot the Ko’An!’ cried Adria.
‘I am Scoot the Ko’An!’ cried the Dudes in unison.
And the Dudes didst roll up the windows and lock the doors, making funny faces at the cops. Then they didst peel out in a cloud of burnt rubber.
‘After them! They art slowly getting away!’ cried the Sheriff, for the Dudes couldst not go faster by not going slower in an 1884 Chevy Shit-Mobile.
And it came to pass that the Sheriff didst have a heart attack from eating too many donuts, and breathed his last.
‘Faster!’ cried Pud.
‘I can’t!’ cried Casey. ‘ ’Tis a Geo!’
And the Goddess didst appear and smack him.
‘ ’Tis not!’ cried Adria.
‘Aye, but ’twas fun to say.’
And the Dudes didst lead the cops and their helicopters on a low-speed chase down the highway until their poor gas mileage didst send them coasting to a halt.
‘Pay The Man!’ cried the cops who didst challenge the Dudes.
And the Dudes didst resist with raised fists, fighting with all their might.
But the Dudes were no match for their rubber bullets and bean-bag launchers. Even the Hyper-X Buttplate was of no avail against them. The cops didst get to have a good old-fashioned beatdown, and bust the Dudes for weapons violations, for there were laws in that land against concealed buttplates and Gothic axes.
And so it came to pass that the Dudes were led into captivity in chains.
Whilst the Dudes were forming one-man conga lines in prison, Scoot the Ko’An was levitating whilst he was meditating, when he didst see disturbing visions of the Dudes, and they were in terrible danger.
For Kungfucius had taught him how to better quantemplate. And Scoot didst fall down.
‘Scoot, constipateth thou must,’ quoth Kungfucius. ‘Let the power floweth through thee.’
‘But ’tis harder than it looketh,’ quoth Scoot, ‘for the gravity is strong in this attic. Why is that, anyway?’
‘Never mindeth thou that,’ quoth Kungfucius. ‘Trouble constipating, thou hast?’
‘Aye,’ quoth Scoot, ‘for I see in my meditations visions of the Dudes, and they art in great peril. I want to stay and train with thee, but methinks they art in over their heads, for I canst not see Nori. Without her, those dumbasses have not a fucking clue what to do.’
‘But ready art thou to face these adversaries?’ quoth Kungfucius. ‘More powerful than any thou hast faced, they art. Yes, minions of The Man…’
‘There is only one way to find out,’ quoth Scoot, and he didst draw the HellRazor, saying, ‘for I am as ready as I shall ever be.’
‘Scoot, behind leave thy sword,’ quoth Kungfucius. ‘Thy staff take up, for time to put thy true power to the test it is.’
And so Scoot didst take up his staff once more, and Kungfucius didst give him a ziplock baggy of power pills.
‘Mine own homebrew these art,’ quoth Kungfucius. ‘Hath some extra kick they do. Hee! Hee!’
‘Thanks,’ quoth Scoot.
And Scoot didst exit the Spooky Door from the place of light and song and didst set forth once more to help the Dudes. After training under Kungfucius, Scoot felt light as a feather and couldst summon up more power than ever.
And the Ass-Kickin’ Apostle didst say the Runner’s Prayer: ‘Mighty Gods of Hondo, lighteth a fire under mine ass, that I might go faster by not going slower.’
But he didst have to run all the way around the world to get there, and he didst crank up his walkman and run across deserts, and down highways, through forests, over mountains, and across the sea.
Canst Scoot save his friends? Hast his training with Kungfucius been enough? Find out in the next action-packed chapter of the Book of Hondo!
Thou art reading the Book of Hondo. Now back to the story:
And it came to pass that the Dudes were cruising down the highway with their stereo blasting, and Fuct the Politically Correct Faerie was complaining about all the bad words in the songs.
‘Wilt thou please turn that off?’ quoth Fuct.
‘What wouldst thou have us listen to?’ quoth an exasperated Casey.
‘What about Madonna, or maybe N’Sync?’ Fuct didst suggest.
‘Dost thou really listen to that crap?’ quoth Dirty Uncle Orty.
‘Please loseth that commode-mouth,’ quoth Fuct. ‘And what’s wrong with N’Sync?’
‘Ye know,’ quoth Jennifer, ‘most of those guys don’t even make their own songs.’
‘Yes they do!’ cried Fuct. ‘I heareth them on the radio all the time.’
‘Now thou knoweth why Scoot doth not listen to the radio,’ quoth Adria.
‘Hast thou ever heard of pitch-correctors?’ asked McBean. ‘Most lip-sync, for they sucketh so much.’
‘I don’t believe it!’ quoth Myles the Unbeliever.
‘Lies! Lies!’ cried Fuct. ‘Nori doth always tell me the same thing! Now, we shalt go over the basic concepts of Political Correctness again, as thou hast already seemed to have forgotten them.
‘If thou intendeth to succeed in this world, thou canst not run around saying things which offendeth people.’
‘Even if ’tis the truth?’ quoth RJ.
‘Especially if ’tis the truth,’ quoth Fuct. ‘Remember, thou shouldst never let the world see the real thou…’
And it came to pass whilst Fuct was giving her lecture about the Importance of Conformity, that a police car didst come upon them with flashing lights and sirens.
So the Dudes didst pull over.
And the Sheriff didst break one of their taillights, and rip off their ‘Fuck Authority’ bumper sticker whilst several more cruisers didst pull up.
‘Okay,’ quoth Fuct, ‘for once try to remembereth the things which I have taught thee. Please, no donut jokes. No oinking— Casey, I am looking in thy direction…’
‘License and registration,’ quoth the Sheriff, for he was a man of considerable girth. ‘Thou knoweth the drill.’
‘But thou knoweth who we art,’ quoth Casey. ‘As the Beige Knight of Hondo, I demandeth to know why thou hast stopped us.’
‘We have been searching for the Dudes for some time,’ quoth the Sheriff. ‘If thou’rt doing nothing wrong, then thou wouldst not mind if we doth look in thy trunk.’
‘Jennifer?…’ quoth the Dudes as they didst look at her in unison, for she was the High Priestess of Hondo.
‘We shalt look anyway, since we have a warrant,’ quoth the Sheriff.
‘Warrant?’ cried RJ. ‘For what?’
‘Hey!’ cried Fuct. ‘What art thou doing? What hath happened to our civil rights?’
‘ ’Tis called the Status Quo…’ quoth McBean.
‘This must be some kind of misunderstanding,’ quoth Fuct. ‘Dudes, I think we shouldst not fight them, for that wouldst be bad. Surely if we surrendereth, they might be gracious enough to—’
‘Thou shalt respect mine authori-tah!’ cried the Sheriff as he didst haul out his flyswatter.
And such was the end of Fuct the Politically Correct Faerie. And there was much rejoicing.
‘We have a warrant for the arrest of the Dudes,’ quoth the Sheriff. ‘Thou shalt tell us where Scoot the Ko’An is!’
‘Look thee no further. I am Scoot the Ko’An,’ quoth McBean.
‘No. I am Scoot the Ko’An!’ cried Casey.
‘No, I am Scoot the Ko’An!’ cried Adria.
‘I am Scoot the Ko’An!’ cried the Dudes in unison.
And the Dudes didst roll up the windows and lock the doors, making funny faces at the cops. Then they didst peel out in a cloud of burnt rubber.
‘After them! They art slowly getting away!’ cried the Sheriff, for the Dudes couldst not go faster by not going slower in an 1884 Chevy Shit-Mobile.
And it came to pass that the Sheriff didst have a heart attack from eating too many donuts, and breathed his last.
‘Faster!’ cried Pud.
‘I can’t!’ cried Casey. ‘ ’Tis a Geo!’
And the Goddess didst appear and smack him.
‘ ’Tis not!’ cried Adria.
‘Aye, but ’twas fun to say.’
And the Dudes didst lead the cops and their helicopters on a low-speed chase down the highway until their poor gas mileage didst send them coasting to a halt.
‘Pay The Man!’ cried the cops who didst challenge the Dudes.
And the Dudes didst resist with raised fists, fighting with all their might.
But the Dudes were no match for their rubber bullets and bean-bag launchers. Even the Hyper-X Buttplate was of no avail against them. The cops didst get to have a good old-fashioned beatdown, and bust the Dudes for weapons violations, for there were laws in that land against concealed buttplates and Gothic axes.
And so it came to pass that the Dudes were led into captivity in chains.
Whilst the Dudes were forming one-man conga lines in prison, Scoot the Ko’An was levitating whilst he was meditating, when he didst see disturbing visions of the Dudes, and they were in terrible danger.
For Kungfucius had taught him how to better quantemplate. And Scoot didst fall down.
‘Scoot, constipateth thou must,’ quoth Kungfucius. ‘Let the power floweth through thee.’
‘But ’tis harder than it looketh,’ quoth Scoot, ‘for the gravity is strong in this attic. Why is that, anyway?’
‘Never mindeth thou that,’ quoth Kungfucius. ‘Trouble constipating, thou hast?’
‘Aye,’ quoth Scoot, ‘for I see in my meditations visions of the Dudes, and they art in great peril. I want to stay and train with thee, but methinks they art in over their heads, for I canst not see Nori. Without her, those dumbasses have not a fucking clue what to do.’
‘But ready art thou to face these adversaries?’ quoth Kungfucius. ‘More powerful than any thou hast faced, they art. Yes, minions of The Man…’
‘There is only one way to find out,’ quoth Scoot, and he didst draw the HellRazor, saying, ‘for I am as ready as I shall ever be.’
‘Scoot, behind leave thy sword,’ quoth Kungfucius. ‘Thy staff take up, for time to put thy true power to the test it is.’
And so Scoot didst take up his staff once more, and Kungfucius didst give him a ziplock baggy of power pills.
‘Mine own homebrew these art,’ quoth Kungfucius. ‘Hath some extra kick they do. Hee! Hee!’
‘Thanks,’ quoth Scoot.
And Scoot didst exit the Spooky Door from the place of light and song and didst set forth once more to help the Dudes. After training under Kungfucius, Scoot felt light as a feather and couldst summon up more power than ever.
And the Ass-Kickin’ Apostle didst say the Runner’s Prayer: ‘Mighty Gods of Hondo, lighteth a fire under mine ass, that I might go faster by not going slower.’
But he didst have to run all the way around the world to get there, and he didst crank up his walkman and run across deserts, and down highways, through forests, over mountains, and across the sea.
Canst Scoot save his friends? Hast his training with Kungfucius been enough? Find out in the next action-packed chapter of the Book of Hondo!
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