GTA: Big Brother!

[Family_Guy]

Grand Theft Auto: Big Brother

 

Note: These guys, despite the story being set in 2005, are still the same age and in the same physical conditions as in when their games were set. Use your imagination here.

 

I don't own GTA, Rockstar, or (thank god) Big Brother. Bear in mind, I do not know exactly how Big Brother works, as I never saw the point in it. Please, still read though, and don't let that put you off.

 

Carl Johnson unfolded the letter and stared, bewildered at the text. It appeared to be an invitation. . .

 

Do you Want To Be Famous?

 

And Don’t Care What Kind Of Mess it Could Get You Into?

 

Then, By All Means, Trust That Instinct,

 

and Join Us, for The Greatest Television Event in History.

 

(attendance is mandatory)

 

Well. . .he did want to be famous and go on TV. He would do it. Sure, there were those voices in his head telling him it was a bad idea, an ambush, a trap, but those were nothing that some heavy drinking couldn’t silence. . .

 

He got out of his chair, and left the house he and his brother were raised in to go to Liberty.

 

Minutes later, Sweet climbed down the stairs. “Hey bro, sorry but I used your toothbrush for- hello? Carl? Dammit, not again. f*ckin’ Busta.”

 

Tommy read the note handed to him by his self-hired business partner and publicity organiser Kent Paul.

 

“Tell me again, why I want to do this?”

 

“For the coverage, guv! Look mate, you know we’re mates, right, and I wouldn’t say this if I wasn’t yer mate, right, but you’re washin’ up. Yer reign of terror is nearly ova mate, I mean it’s been, what, ten years? You gotta make yerself known again, mush. Show everyone you’re still alive and kickin’ ass, ya know?”

 

Tommy let out a sigh.

 

His lawyer, Rosenberg approached his office. “Tommy, Tommy, you gotta help me. They’re after me again Tommy, the f*ckin’ rhinos are out ta get me again! Ya gotta help!”

 

“Ken, I told ya to quit with that stuff.”

 

Ken, sniffing between sentences said, “But that’s what they want, Tommy. Those f*ckin’ rhinos are just waitin’ for my guard to go down. I gotta take this stuff to stay alert, Tommy, alert. . .Tommy. Tommy, stay here with me, Tommy, stay here with me or they’ll kill me. You don’t want anything to happen to your old pal Rosie do ya?”

 

At that moment Tommy stood up abruptly and slammed his fist on his desk. “Paul,” he looked at the edgy, paranoid Rosenberg, “get my keys.”

 

Claude, despite his vast wealth and celebrity status and immense power, lay in the uncomfortable bed next to Eddie’s garage in Portland. Ever since the once love of his life betrayed him, and left him for dead, he has felt at home in Liberty. A city, filled to the brim with crime, violence and corrupt officials. He loved it. For the first few years after he was shot point blank, he could not speak. By now, he had gotten used to it. It had distinct advantages, and anyway, what possible question couldn't be answered with a simple hand gesture? He analysed the note, going over it again and again for a hidden meaning. The invitation was vague, he wasn’t entirely sure what he was getting himself into, but he had nothing to do nowadays anyway, except lounge around his garage, alone. He nodded to himself, before putting the note in his pocket and stepping outside.

 

He walked up to the building as instructed in the note, and waited at the door patiently, mentally whistling. About ten minutes later, a Jester pulled up with a skid. The man noticed Claude standing idly by the door, and slowly got out of his car, keeping his gaze fixed on the other man’s face.

 

Claude gave him the finger.

 

CJ walked towards him, and when he was close enough, outstretched his arm to pin him to the wall. “You! You the dude Catalina left me for?”

 

Claude nodded nervously.

 

Carl stared at him, as if trying to read his thoughts, and then dropped to his knees.

 

“Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! She was a crazy bitch, man.”

 

Claude smiled uncertainly, enduring the flashbacks of his betrayal, his revenge, all the trouble she caused him.

 

“So what ever happened to you and her?”

 

Claude dragged his index finger across his throat, then made his arms into the shape of a gun pointed to the sky.

 

“What’s the matter, can’t talk? Whatever, man. So you killed her?” CJ shook his hand, and turned, as a white Infernus arrived. An English guy left the car first, followed by a man who must have been in his mid thirties in a Hawaiian shirt.

 

“Tommy!” began Paul. “this is your big break, remember. Why don’t ya go meet the other guys?”

 

“Why don’t ya shut the f*ck up before I start telling the story of your experiences with Mitch Baker and his gang? The words: limey, birthday and suit ring any bells?”

 

“Sorry, Tommy! But there’s no need to get like that.” Tommy walked over to the group. “Yeah you keep walkin’,” said Paul when Tommy was out of earshot. “Jus’ remember who made you, you mug. Me! Kent Paul! You owe me! Mug.”

 

Tommy approached the other guys. “How ya doin’?” He shook hands with them. “Tommy Vercetti.”

 

“The Tommy Vercetti?” Carl blurted out of surprise.

 

“The very same.”

 

“But you’re old!”

 

Claude was laughing in the corner.

 

Tommy, ignoring CJ’s remark, looked at him, then back at CJ, who simply shrugged.

 

A voice then crackled through a speaker, which, oddly enough, no one had noticed previously. “Hey there, you’re listening to Lazlow, on this momentous occasion for Liberty. You can come inside guys,” he said, breaking his stride.

 

Carefully, and cautiously, the men walked through the doors. All of a sudden shutters flew down across every door, window and other means of exit.

 

“Now,” said the voice of Lazlow, “let’s meet our contestants.” The three shared a puzzled glance. “Contestant number one is Tommy Vercetti. It says here that he was an entre...preneur, whatever that means, from the eighties. His favourite thing is business and his most hated thing of all time was that guy who hosted V...Rock. Oh. sh*t. Um. . .contestant number two is Carl Johnson, a young man who crawled his way up from the ghetto in Los Santos, San Andreas to become a respected man throughout the state, but somehow, never forgot his roots. His favourite things are tricking out cars and Cluckin’ Bell, and it says here, he always wanted to kill. . .um. . .me. . .for “dissin’ his homie Loc and the Gangsta Rap scene”. .so. . .welcome to the show homie. Remember, we don’t wanna see any gang bangin’ on live TV. Contestant number three, the silent assassin as I just decided on the spot there to call him, Claude Speed. His favourite thing is remaining silent to keep his cool, and his most hated thing was that guy on Chatterbox, the one who took sh*t from Toni and patronized Maria. Man what is it with you guys? You all hate me?” They nod in unison. “Heh, well good luck finding me. I am Big Brother.”

 

As Lazlow continued to rant, Claude walked over to a wardrobe, and opened the door to find a man cramped into a small space with a microphone and headset. Lazlow grinned sheepishly, before running for the door and attempting to type in the sixteen digit clearance code to lift the shutter. The men slowly advanced, so he attempted the manual override, by kicking it hard, causing it to fall off. He ran out and locked it behind him. Breathing heavily, he panted, “So let’s get on with the show.”

 

 

[Greene]

That was pretty good.

There were also some funny parts such as the bit with Lazlow.

Good Job

[Family_Guy]

Thanks Greene! Here is Day 2!

 

Note: words in italics are Lazlow commentating. He may also speak in normal dialogue when he interacts with the guests.

 

Day 2:

 

None of them got much sleep that night. After the initial fight over who got the top bunk, ending hours later when Claude climbed up without a word and lay down, the men sat awake, thinking. The idea of being trapped in a house for any length of time worried them slightly, especially Lazlow, who was forced to live with them until he could find a place to stay. Thank God they installed a metal detector.

 

All the men slept with one eye open, still unsure about the people they shared a room with. The three contestants were all natural born killers, but were virtually harmless when unarmed.

 

6am. Time for our contestants to wake up, came the voice from Lazlow, when he was safely at the other end of the building.

 

Tommy, who had ended up with the bottom bunk (CJ on the floor), turned onto his side, and saw Claude, falling past him with a thump. Claude mentally cursed, and brought himself to his feet. Fortunately, he had landed on something soft.

 

Carl lay in a sleeping bag, barely awake, trying to work out where the agonising blow to the back had come from. Claude smiled evilly. Carl glared at him.

 

The men stepped groggily out of their quarters, and sat at the large breakfast table. They watched each other like hawks.

 

Day Two. Tension is building up.

 

They looked to the other end of the table, where Lazlow was cradling the microphone.

 

The contestants have experienced a lot of anger, mostly towards myself.

 

They slowly stood up.

 

“Ah, now, gentlemen, please. I'm afraid the use of any physical harm towards your host will result in immediate eviction.” Lazlow smiled. The men thought about this briefly, then continued to advance. “I mean, violence will result in a longer stay in the Big Brother House.” he croaked nervously.

 

The men sat back down.

 

Now ladies and gentlemen at home, let me explain the rules.

 

Carl looked around to see who he was talking to. Claude hit him.

 

In order to survive, the contestants must complete various challenges, for which they will be awarded such things as food, drink, sleep, and booze. All the essentials I'd say. Failure to complete a challenge will result in a certain privilege being taken away. The contestants must both work together and alone. They must use all their cunning and tact to outwit their fellow players.

 

Claude thought about this.

 

He hit CJ again.

 

Every so often, whenever I see fit, the contestants must nominate one person for eviction.

 

Tommy's face brightened.

 

But not themselves.

 

Tommy sagged glumly.

 

This person will be forced to leave the house, and lose the competition, and the others will be one step closer to the grand prize.

 

“What's the prize?” said CJ.

 

Lazlow tapped his nose and winked, more in a “I don't know and don't want to admit it” way than a “its a secret” way.

 

Your first challenge, gentlemen, will split you into two teams. Team one will be Tommy and Carl, and “team” two will be you, Claude. Your objective, team one, is to make Claude talk. If you succeed, you will be fed tonight, if you fail, Claude will. Begin.

 

Claude sat at the opposite end of the table from them, slightly worried. Tommy and Carl exchanged glances, then took turns at getting Claude to speak.

 

“Hey Claude.” said Tommy. Claude didn't move. “Well. . .I'm out of ideas.”

 

CJ stood in front of Claude, and tapped him on the head. Then punched him. And kicked him. Then Tommy came over. And punched him. And kicked him. Claude simply sat there, without saying a word. Lazlow was sitting with a stop clock, with fifty-nine minutes on it. They continued to pound him, until they began to get tired. They sat down for a moment, catching their breath. During this time, Claude stood up, and walked over to Lazlow. He took the stop clock from his grip and examined it. Then hit Lazlow over the head with it. Lazlow picked up the microphone.

 

The Winner: Claude!

 

Claude nodded happily, and was handed a plate of some sort of soup. He sat down and started scooping it into his mouth. He glanced up, to see Tommy and CJ glaring at him. He licked his lips mockingly, and gave them the finger again, just ensure they knew where he stood.

 

Not to worry guys, there is always tomorrow. You are free for the rest of the night.

 

Claude cleared his plate, and was walking off, when CJ threw a chair at him, knocking him on his back. CJ stood over him, authoritatively.

 

“Not so tough now, are we, jackass?”

 

With one motion, Claude managed to kick him in the nuts and get to his feet. He dusted himself off and walked past Tommy who was laughing, stepping on CJ along the way.

 

Claude sat in the lounge area, thinking of more ways to piss off CJ.

 

CJ sat in the adjacent room, pointing an imaginary gun at him, and making firing noises.

 

Tommy sat across from CJ, slightly confused, but confident. He had worked with plenty of difficult people in his career, and knew how to manipulate them for his own personal gain. CJ and Claude weren't even in the same league as people such as Lance Vance, Phil Cassidy and Ricardo Diaz when it came to difficulty to deal with. Claude might pose a problem. It was hard to tell when he never spoke. CJ on the other hand. . .Tommy reached into his shirt pocket and produced a pen. He pressed the end of it, making a clicking noise. In a fit of panic, CJ dived behind the sofa and pointed his imaginary pistol at Tommy, who laughed. Yup – CJ would be no problem.

 

Later that night, Lazlow went out to find an apartment. He left the cameras running as the contestants slept, and ran a fake commentary he had recorded (three and a half minutes long, on repeat). He searched into the early hours of the morning, and was successful. He would move in immediately.

 

When he returned, he noticed someone had drawn on the monitor in a thick black marker, roughly where CJ had been lying. He played back the tape, and saw Claude was not there for a large portion of time, and CJ had a apparently grown some facial hair.

 

A/N: I just want to point out that I didn't intentionally set out to make fun of CJ and have everyone bully him, it just sort of happened. Its not that I don't like CJ, I just like the other guys better.

 

 

[Greene]

I think this is a very creative GTA Fan Fic compared to alot of others on here.

Good Chapter

[Family_Guy]

Thanks for the comments Greene!

 

Well, here we are, day three in the Big Brother house, and already tensions are mounting between Tommy and Carl.

 

“I say the 1986 Banshee is better!”

 

“And I say the 90's model would kick it's ass!”

 

“What the hell? That doesn't even make sense! And what's so great about the new Banshee? I get to stare at your ugly face all day? Cars have roofs for a reason prick!”

 

“New? Newsflash, Vercetti, it aint new. It's been around for fifteen years.”

 

“The '86 Banshee is a classic!”

 

“It's a pile of crap!”

 

Claude looked on in dismay as they continued to argue. I wish Lazlow was still here, he thought. That was funny.

 

Instead, Lazlow had set up cameras throughout the house, so he could observe their behaviour from the safety and comfort of his crappy flat in the Red Light District, Portland. The door burst open. Lazlow threw himself behind a table. In walked Toni Cipriani, armed with a gun and an evil grin. Both were able to scare the living hell out of Lazlow.

 

“It's time for you to pay up Lazlow,” he said, holding an empty sack.

 

“Toni. . .I-”

 

“Toni? How did you know my name was Toni?”

 

Oh, God, not this again. “Okay, listen To- Sir. Um. . .” Lazlow thought for a minute. How would you like to star in Liberty City's Big Brother show? I bet your mama would be proud of you.”

 

“Mama?” said Toni, almost ready to cry. He looked at the monitor. Hey, I know these guys, he thought. They all betrayed The Leone family name. This could be my chance to whack em. Make Joey proud, make mama proud, make papa proud. He held his hand to his heart. “Lazlow, you got a deal.”

 

Meanwhile, Carl had been plotting his revenge on Claude. That mute would be sorry he crossed me, thought CJ, as he doodled a rough sketch of himself soaking Claude with a water balloon. He laughed out loud.

 

He turned the page over, and began an outline for his plan. He held the pencil awkwardly, his tongue hanging out with concentration, as he wrote down what he would do, step by step.

 

As he did this, Tommy spoke to Claude.

 

“So, don't talk much, do ya?”

 

Claude shook his head.

 

“You wanna tell me why?”

 

Claude shook his head again.

 

“You're impossible, you know that?”

 

Claude smiled. They both turned to look at Carl, who was lying on the floor drawing and laughing to himself.

 

“He's an idiot isn't he.”

 

Claude nodded, and threw his shoe at CJ.

 

They laughed.

 

Carl continued with his plan, muttering death threats to himself and saying how they would all be sorry when he finished.

 

That night, it was time.

 

Carl hid behind the sofa, and unfolded his plan sheet. “Boy, Claude is gonna be sorry,” he snickered.

 

He ducked down, out of view, when he saw Claude walking through from the kitchen. Claude was about to walk past. A quick double check of the plan sheet in case he had forgotten. Perfect.

 

Holding back laughter, Carl extended his leg.

 

Claude tripped up.

 

Carl laughed loudly and childishly as Claude knelt on the floor. He turned to see Tommy walking towards him. Carl watched Tommy with interest.

 

Tommy pointed upwards, and while Carl was distracted, pushed him backwards, over Claude.

 

Claude stepped on CJ again as he and Tommy left the room, leaving CJ humiliated, confused, and desperately trying to find what the hell Tommy had been pointing to.

 

6:15 pm. Time for the contestants to attempt today's challenge, to win their next meal.

 

“Hey,” said Carl, to the speaker Lazlow's voice was emanating from. “Didn't you say there would be booze?”

 

Carl, you don't have to talk to the speaker. I can hear you. And I'm afraid I don't have the money to buy booze right now, so you will just have to make do with Microwavable TV Dinners.

 

“Damn.”

 

“So what do we have to do?” asked Tommy.

 

Today's challenge will be a no holds barred, every man for himself game of. . .Musical Chairs!”

 

CJ's face brightened. “I love this game!”

 

In the middle of the floor, is one chair. When the music stops, the first person to sit in the chair can have the meal. Are we ready?

 

The men nod. Lazlow puts on a copy of “One Step Forward” by the Desert Rose Band, and the men - excluding CJ who paraded around the chair in time to the music - stepped slowly in circles, clearly depressed by the country music.

 

The record stopped, and the contestants scrambled for the chair. The chair was pushed into the kitchen and Tommy and CJ chased after it. Tommy beckoned CJ to sit down, but pulled away the chair at the last second and sat down himself.

 

When he returned to the dining area, he noticed the plate was empty.

 

Claude burped.

 

Um. . .The winner: Claude! Again.

 

For the second night in a row, Tommy and CJ went to sleep hungry. Tommy wanted his revenge.

 

He fumbled in the darkness, and got a glass of water. He walked back through the pitch darkness to the room, located Claude's hand, and put it in the water. Then returned to sleep.

 

A/N: Sorry, I tried, I tried to let CJ get his revenge, but it just doesn't work. He's too dumb, I think. All he's good for is waving a gun around, and letting people boss him around.

 

So sorry to any CJ fans, I'll try and give him a better role later, the next chapter should be interesting.

 

 

[Greene]

The characters seem alot goofier than in the GTA games.

It should be interesting with Toni in there too.

Good Job

[Red_Jacks&Purple_Nines]

This is lookin' good!

 

Edited February 19, 2007 by Red_Jacks&Purple_Nines

[Red_Jacks&Purple_Nines]

[Deleted Message]

[John-]

Hey I love this, I had it in my mind for a while, what if the three main big stars of the GTA Series met face to face, so I guess this is what it would be like, cant wait for the next chapter.

[Family_Guy]

CJ woke up with wet sheets. Stealing Claude's bunk had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now he felt pretty stupid. Claude would have to sleep on the floor now since there was no way he was going back into that bed. Then again, that was probably a good thing, he would probably have died if he had fallen from the top bunk again.

 

A/N: That was a continuation I forgot to add on to the last chapter. Again, sorry CJ fans! Now, onto the story.

 

Day 4

 

Welcome back to Liberty City Big Brother, where the contestants are joined by zany new house guest Toni!

 

“COME BACK HERE YOU LITTLE PRICKS, I'M GONNA f*ckING KILL YOU!”

 

Tommy, Carl and Claude hid behind the sofa as Toni Cipriani scouted the area with a baseball bat, knocking over plant pots, ornaments and other outrageously expensive items. The men ducked as the bat swung past their heads.

 

Please, Toni, calm down. This is a family show, and we don't want any deaths. Not for the first week on air at least.

 

Toni turned round, and swung the bat at the camera, sending it flying out the window and into a stray cat.

 

“Meow!”

 

“SHUT UP DAMMIT!” Toni threw a chair at the cat, but it missed. He took out his cell phone, and proceeded to put a hit out on the cat. “Yeah, I want a rat's head in its bed!”

 

“Hey Toni,” came the reply, “wouldn't the cat kinda like that?”

 

“You want me to kill you too?”

 

“No. . .sir.”

 

While Toni was busy organising the assassination of the cat, CJ saw this as his chance to strike. He leapt over the couch and flung himself at Toni, wrapping his arms around his neck and his legs around his waist. Toni struggled, trying to throw CJ off, but he held on with the determination of someone who can only think one thing at a time, and that thing certainly wasn't letting go. CJ wrestled for the bat, and threw it towards Claude, clubbing him in the head and knocking him unconscious.

 

“sh*t.”

 

A black Mafia Sentinel pulled up outside the window.

 

Tommy picked up the bat and ran towards Carl with it held at head height. “Oh, Carl. . .” he said manically, as he swung the bat.

 

Hearing the familiar voice, Toni turned around, only to be greeted with a bat to the face, causing him to fall backwards to the floor.

 

“Well,” said Tommy. “I guess that works too. . .”

 

Claude stood up.

 

Some men in black suits stepped out of the car, and loaded their Tec-9s.

 

“That was a close one, eh Claude?” Claude nodded. “But at least everything worked out.” Claude looked to Toni's body, where CJ's arms were just visible underneath, flailing wildly. He heard a faint croaking noise. He turned back to Tommy, nodded, and strolled away.

 

The sound of gunshots could be heard from outside, followed by some wailing and screeching, then the sound of a car driving off.

 

Uh. . .Could one of you move Toni before Carl suffocates?

 

Tommy sighed, and heaved the body. CJ gave Tommy a murderous stare.

 

“Hey, Carl, you seem pretty “pissed” off. Ha ha! Get it?”

 

CJ suppressed the urge to punch him, and instead walked away, tripping over the still unconscious Toni.

 

Okay people, It's Lazlow again, came the voice from the speaker.

 

This time Claude changed the channel. They listened to Double Cleff FM for a few seconds, before relenting and changing it back.

 

Thank you. Okay, it is eviction time now. Each of you can cast one vote about who you want to leave the house. The person with most votes is outta here. I think it's safe to say who will be leaving already though. So, one by one, enter the voting room to cast your vote.

 

“Voting room?”

 

The kitchen.

 

“Ah.”

 

Claude entered first, writing a name on a scrap of paper and holding it up to the camera. Next Carl entered, and did the same, followed by Tommy, and then Toni who had just regained consciousness.

 

And the votes are in. We have a tie. Tommy and Toni, with two votes each.

 

Tommy looked at Carl and Claude. “Okay, who was it?”

 

Well, I'll give you a hint. The person spelled “Tommy” wrong.

 

“You're an idiot, Carl.”

 

Well then. That means we'll have to have a new challenge to decide who stays.

 

“Can they make Claude talk again?” asked CJ.

 

No. That's been done.

 

“Oh.”

 

“How about a CJ ass kicking contest?” laughed Tommy.

 

I don't see why not.

 

“Score!”

 

Okay, we'll split the challenge into three parts. The person who injures CJ the most in each part gets a point. The person with most points at the end wins. And uh. . .CJ can pick the next contestant to be added, for his troubles. . . . . . If he survives, that is. Round one, who can injure CJ the most with a projectile of their choice? Please choose your weapon, men, and stand at the opposite end of the room from Carl.

 

The men did as they were asked.

 

Toni. Proceed.

 

Toni picked up the baseball bat, slapped it against his hand a few times to prepare, then sent it soaring through the air. CJ, who had been tied to the wall and gagged by Claude, closed his eyes as the swirling shape blurred past him and out the window.

 

“Meow!”

 

Toni's breathing became heavier. He took out his cell phone again and began shouting at the recipient to kill all the cats in the neighbourhood.

 

Tommy, you're up.

 

Tommy gazed around the room for something, preferably something sharp, to throw at CJ. He settled for a heavy glass vase. He pulled his arm back, and pitched it like a baseball player. Time seemed to slow down for CJ as the vase hurtled towards him. It smashed into the wall, inches above the top of his head with a rather cool explosion, and the pieces rained down about him.

 

Well. . . Tommy was closest, I'm afraid Toni. That's one point to him. Next round, who can cause most pain to Carl with a bullet.

 

Toni and Tommy exchanged excited glances.

 

BB bullets, guys.

 

They shrugged, and Toni was handed a BB gun by a stage-hand making his first appearance on the show, and most likely his last. After giving away the gun, he went back to his regular job of making refreshments and living in the basement with the lights off.

 

Toni took aim. The gun was a replica of a Colt-45. He took his one shot, piercing CJ's shoulder.

 

“I've seen better.” said CJ.

 

One bullet left, Tommy noticed, as he seized the gun. He was attempting to aim for the PacMan shaped scar on CJ's nose. (anyone else notice the white mark that looks like one of the PacMan ghosts? Whatever.) Claude grabbed the gun from Tommy's hand just before he squeezed the trigger, and sent a bullet tearing through the air, hitting CJ in the nether regions.

 

Well. . . said Lazlow, trying not to laugh, I think I'll have to disqualify Tommy for this round. Toni gets the point. So that makes it neck and neck, with one challenge to go. But I don't know what it is yet.

 

Tommy inspected the paper with CJ's vote on it. It read “Tomnye.

 

“Carl. . .were you trying to spell Tommy or Toni here?”

 

The material was removed from CJ's mouth. He opened it to speak.

 

“Think carefully now.”

 

“It said. . .um. . .Toni.” His eyes darted from side to side.

 

Oh, well, sorry Carl. I thought it said Tommy.

 

“It di-”

 

Claude slapped his hand over CJ's mouth.

 

Well then folks. There you have our first eviction. Say “hi” to your mama for me Toni.

 

“My name aint Toni, okay?”

 

Well that's wonderful. Don't let the door hit you on the way out. We don't want you to have it assassinated too.

 

Now Carl, you can invite anyone you want to the Big Brother house. Just give them a call.

 

The stage-hand once again appeared out of nowhere with the phone, and disappeared just as quickly.

 

Carl dialled the number. “Hey, Cesar.”

 

“Hey Carl,” came the reply. “I saw you on TV, bro.”

 

“Cool, man. Hey I signed you up to come down and be a contestant.”

 

“Why CJ? What the hell did I do to you?”

 

“Uh. . .nothin' man. I thought you'd be happy.”

 

“Uh. . .well, for you man, I guess. I'll be there tomorrow, holmes.”

 

“Cool, man. Hey how's everyone holdin' up?”

 

“Well, when I went to see Sweet, he was tearing up photos of you and him and eating the pieces.”

 

“Heh heh. Yeah. That's Sweet alright. Well I gotta go, man. I'll catch ya tomorrow.”

 

“See ya, CJ.”

 

Oh God. Not that Hispanic guy.

 

“Hey, you said anyone I want.”

 

Fine. From now on, I'm choosing the guests.

 

The contestants looked silently at each other.

 

(whispering) I gotta get a better job. . .

 

 

[John-]

Awesome im glad it was Toni and not Tommy, Claude, or CJ ^^

[Family_Guy]

Day Five

 

Carl waited patiently by the door, expecting the arrival of his best friend. Lazlow had the stage-hand press the bell every five minutes, to get his hopes up.

 

After a long wait, the shutter was lifted, and the door opened. Cesar was walked in by two large bouncers who held his hands behind his back.

 

“Hey, CJ! They took my gun and everything, man! They don't trust me!” he said in a bright and unusually cheerful tone.

 

Carl hugged Cesar, and Claude threw up into a nearby plant pot.

 

The new visitor noticed Tommy standing idly, and approached him. “Ah, aloha, amigo.”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“I said hello, bro. Are you going to leave me hanging, holmes?” said Cesar.

 

“Are you retarded? I mean, look at you! Is this what I have to put up with here? I get stuck in this sh*t hole where I haven't been fed for the last five days and to top it all off – I have you. What the hell are you? Shouldn't you be out selling drugs and driving cars?”

 

“I love cars! How did you know? And I'm not retarded, holmes, but I think he is.” He pointed to the doorway, where Kent Paul was arguing with the bouncers.

 

“Alright, alright. It was an easy mistake.” yelled Paul. Tommy walked over. “Oh, you back away now, ponce. Tommy, teach these guys a lesson, mate.”

 

“Alright,” sighed Tommy. “what seems to be the problem?”

 

“We caught this guy trying to sneak in through a window.”

 

Paul looked embarrassed.

 

“Then, when we brought him out, he stole the security camera and started running around talking and filming himself.”

 

“Tommy, mate, you understand. I wanna be famous again. Way back when, everyone knew my name, Tommy. I was in league with the greats.”

 

“Who are you again?” asked one of the bouncers. He was dressed all in black, and had shades on, like every other bouncer from every movie ever.

 

“Don't play games, sunshine. I'm too crafty for that.”

 

“No, really. Are you famous? Coz we were just gonna throw you in an insane asylum.”

 

“Kent Paul, mate. Kent Paul.”

 

“Doesn't ring a bell.”

 

“Love Fist? The Girning Chimps? I managed em all. You all remember Maccer, right?”

 

Hearing this name, CJ invited himself into the conversation, leaving Cesar and Claude to stare each other out.

 

“You killed my cousin, amigo.”

 

Claude looked at him as if to say, “I've killed a lot of people, buddy, what makes your cousin so special?”

 

“I'm gonna cut you.” Claude looked at his empty hands. “Oh sh*t, they took my knife.” Cesar dug into his pocket and produced a comb. He shrugged, and tried to stab Claude with it. Claude backed away in mock fear, until he reached the bedroom. He felt around behind him, until he felt a familiar shape. He grabbed the gun and fired at Cesar's forehead.

 

Realising he was actually shooting with a BB gun and not a real one lessened Cesar's panic, as the bullet bounced off his forehead, leaving a faint mark.

 

“Bitch.”

 

Claude fired again. Cesar ducked.

 

“Ow, f*ck you Claude!” yelled CJ.

 

He fired again. He hit CJ again. That time he meant it.

 

Cesar laughed mockingly at him. Claude looked at the gun, weighing it in his hands. He came to a simple conclusion, and clubbed Cesar in the head with it.

 

Claude walked off into the group that had congregated at the door. He listened.

 

“Well,” said Paul, “long story short, Maccer is dead.” Everyone gasped. CJ gasped considerably later than everyone else due to a delayed reaction. “I don't mean dead dead. I mean his career is dead.”

 

“Paul, you ever notice that any band you ever manage ends up dead within a year or two? And that can be taken metaphorically and literally.” said Tommy.

 

“Well, Tommy, that's all gonna change now. Say hello to the future of music. Say hello to OG Loc!”

 

A heavily tattooed, thin man, who was topless and had a hat on, jumped into the room. “What up? I'm OG Loc! OG Loc baby!”

 

“Man, I gotta apologise to Cesar for that retard crack.” Tommy said, shaking his head.

 

“You talkin' about me, you busta fool?”

 

Tommy opened his mouth to say, “well you're the only retard around here”, but thought about this, and settled for, “yes.”

 

“You can't talk jack about me, playa. I'm gangsta!” he retorted almost shouting.

 

Well hey. What do you ya know? If it isn't OG Joke.

 

“Lazlow? Oh yeah, you a tough guy now, huh? Where is he? I'll kill him! No one disses me, I'm GANGSTA!”

 

Um. . .he's right over there.”

 

OG Loc turned and ran down the path in the direction Tommy had pointed, screaming and waving his arms.

 

“I was thinking he could stay in the house with you guys,”said Paul.

 

“No!” yelled Tommy.

 

“No!”

 

Even Claude shouted.

 

“Aha!” yelled CJ. “Lazlow, did you hear that!”

 

Hear what?

 

“He. . .he spoke! Claude spoke.”

 

Oh. .. yeah. . .suuuure he did Carl. I believe you.

 

“Damn prick.”

 

So, I say Ogg Lock can stay for a while. At least he'll stay away from me.

 

Loc came running back up the path, panting and breathing heavily. “I think. . .I think he got away.”

 

“Shut up.”

 

“Who you talkin' to, fool? No one tells OG Loc to shut up, coz I'm-”

 

“GANGSTA!” everyone chorused. “WE KNOW! SHUT UP!”

 

“Oh yeah? Well this guy didn't say nothin' bout me! He understands!” said Loc, pointing to Claude. He realised that no one was listening to him, and in fact, most of them had left the room.

 

He turned to Claude. “What's up, homie?”

 

Claude leaned back against a wall nonchalantly, trying to mock Loc.

 

“Oh, I know you didn't just ignore me, homie. I KNOW you didn't just play me. You think you're all that, bro? Huh? I'm from the streets, bro, I'm GANGSTA!”

 

Claude snickered to himself. He noticed everyone was peeking past the bedroom door, watching him and OG Loc. Claude held the gun in his grip. He aimed the barrel at Loc's head, and Loc backed off a bit.

 

“Hey, Loc, watch yourself, holmes. He's pretty powerful with that thing.” said Cesar, nursing the bruise on his head.

 

“C. . .C'mon homie, don't shoot me! I'm. . .I'm sorry, man.” Claude took a few steps forward.

 

Claude, please stop threatening the guests.

 

Claude gave the finger to a nearby camera.

 

And I saw that.

 

Claude shrugged.

 

Okay, I have a new idea for a challenge. And I don't think you're gonna like it.Since we have the once famous rapper- for inexplicable reasons I'm sure – OG Loc on the show, I thought we would have a bit of karaoke. I figure Claude can be the judge, since he won't speak, and the rest of you will have to perform. Now I want you to be fair, Claude, and don't let personal vendettas obscure your judgement. Now Claude will have to find his own way to make his opinion clear, and can choose one of the men, the one he thinks is least blessed in the vocal category, to be EVICTED. Lazlow delivered the last word in a deep, booming voice in an attempt to enhance the severity, but only made himself sound stupid.

 

Well Claude, take a seat, and everyone else, take your positions.

 

Cesar took the stage first, and delivered a beautiful rendition of “Japanese Boy”. Amazingly, Claude managed to keep a straight face throughout.

 

Tommy simply threatened Claude until he was granted permission to stay, without actually performing.

 

CJ sang Whitey Shafer's “All My Exes Live In Texas” and was accompanied by Cesar half way through. Claude showed his thoughts with a simple thumbs down and put a question mark next to CJ's name on the audition sheet.

 

Then, as OG Loc took the stage, everyone gathered round to hear him. Everyone apart from CJ, who came to the conclusion that he would be singing original songs after the lawsuit from Madd Dogg. He worked this out all by himself.

 

“What's up, it's yo' man OG Loc gonna bust a rhyme fo' ya right now!”

 

Claude put a cross next to the check box marked “grammar”.

 

Lazlow put on an instrumental version of "Don't U Know I'm Loc, Oh Man?" that he found in a ninety-nine cents bin.

 

“Ohhhh, it's Loc baby, no joke baby, no joke it's Loc no joke it's uh. . . lemme see ya throw your hands in the air, wave em like ya just don't care!”

 

No one moved.

 

“Uh. . . say yo it's Loc baby, say yo it's Loc baby, say yo it's Loc baby, say yo it's Loc baby,. . .”

 

Claude waited through this for about two minutes.

 

“Say Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh Geeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee, say Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh Geeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee say. . . yeah.”

 

This time, Claude expressed his opinion, by shooting Loc with the BB gun. When this didn't stop Loc from singing, he turned the gun around and shot himself. Claude carefully put crosses in all the categories on the sheet, then tore it into several pieces, then into even smaller pieces.

 

I uh. . .think Claude is trying to tell us something, Loc.

 

Claude looked relieved.

 

Go on. Get outta here.

 

“Can't I at least stay tonight?”

 

Tommy was standing behind him, contemplating hitting him with a bat.

 

Of course. What bad could possibly happen?

 

Loc turned round, and Tommy quickly threw the bat away, clubbing Claude in the head and knocking him out again. He whistled nervously.

 

Later that night, the men had a buffet of various “just add water” snacks. Tommy looked at his dejectedly, and noticed it was no longer there, as CJ was sitting next to him, cradling it in his arms and waving the fork at anyone who so much as looked at him.

 

Sleeping arrangements were an issue. No one was sure whether to trust Loc, despite how “str8” he said he was. In the end, he was ostracised by a five to one vote (Lazlow included) and was left to sleep in the lounge area.

 

He tossed and turned, but a noise kept him awake. A constant drip, drip, drip, drip. . . He made his way to the kitchen and saw the dripping faucet. (I'm meeting you half way, Americans, it could just as easily have been a dripping tap.) He watched it, as if trying to turn it off with mind control. When this didn't work, he twisted the top, first in the wrong direction, soaking himself. When he tried the other way, it broke off, and continued to drip, slowly and steadily, and in an extremely more full of itself attitude.

 

“YOU TRYIN' TO DISS ME? COZ I'M GANGSTA, BITCH.”

 

“Hey, shut up, Loc.” someone shouted.

 

“You wanna mess with me, faucet?” he whispered. “Then mess with this, fool!”

 

He kicked the faucet, breaking it even more, and causing a fountain of water to spew out.

 

“sh*t. I don't wanna be around when they find this.”

 

He gathered his things, and climbed out a window. A bright blue light blinded him. He could hear the sound of an alarm, and barking dogs nearby.

 

“Uh-oh.”

 

He continued to run, dogs on his tail, until he found a parked car. It was unlocked. Thank God. He opened the door and threw himself inside, immediately closing the door behind him so the dogs could not get him. Here he hid for about twenty minutes, until the dogs got tired and left.

 

He must have fallen asleep, because next thing he knew, the car was moving. The driver noticed the movement in the back seat, and stopped the car. He locked the doors. Then he spoke.

 

“OG Loc? Man, I haven't seen you in years. Still STEALING MY RHYMES YOU MOTHERf*ckIN' BUSTA?”

 

Loc tugged and tugged at the handle but couldn't budge it.

 

“Let's go for a drive.” said Madd Dogg. “Why are you wet?”

 

He geared the car up and drove away into the distance.

 

 

[John-]

xD looks bad for loc

[Red_Jacks&Purple_Nines]

This has gotta be the most funniest GTA fic I have ever read man! This is very humorous. Can't wait for more from the Big Brother house!

[Family_Guy]

Thanks for the comments guys. This shoud be more humorous for you.

 

Day Six

 

The doorbell rang. Cesar answered. A man in blue overalls stood in front of a crate marked “ACME”. Cesar signed for it, and hauled the crate inside.

 

As he dragged the mystery box, a caption appeared under him.

 

Lowriderus Obssessimus

 

Claude was just waking up. He yawned, and put on his leather jacket, and wandered out of the room.

 

Lazlow thought hard about a caption. Totallyus Oblivious. . .uss. He crossed it out.

 

Mutus Assassinus

 

Hey guys. I have some business to take care of today, so I'll have to leave you to take care of yourselves. Please be good. I can't afford to fix any more damages.

 

Claude sat in the lounge area, looking around for Loc. He relaxed on the couch, and switched on the news. Everyone gathered round to watch, except Cesar who was absent.

 

“We have here a missing person's report filed by one Jeffrey “OG Loc” Martin. Jeffrey, who filed the report on himself, was last seen on Big Brother, where he performed in a terrible karaoke competition, and disappeared the same night. Police will be searching this location for clues later today.”

 

Everyone then resumed their normal business. Claude, just noticing the house had a staircase, decided to go upstairs. He put his foot on the bottom step, and looked to the top, where Cesar was standing with an oversized catapult and a spherical black bomb with a fuse. He fired the bomb down and Claude dodged out of the way, as the bomb blew a smoking hole in the wall. He gazed out into the street and saw a passer-by, who had been walking his dog, and was now staring with surprise at the hole in the wall that he could have sworn hadn't been there before.

 

Claude looked back up at Cesar. He licked his lips and spoke, “Meep Meep!” He ran off in a comical fashion.

 

Cesar initiated Plan B: Think Of A New Plan.

 

Then, half an hour later, he initiated Plan B Squared: Crush Claude With Something Really Heavy.

 

He made a note in “The Book of ACME Disasters” (issued free with every ACME starter pack). The note read, “think of better plan names”.

 

Cesar set up the apparatus as instructed, and marked an X on the floor in white chalk, where Claude would be hit. Then, he hid from sight. The problem with his hiding place was that he could barely see the victim or the X. There he waited. And waited.

 

Tommy walked by the X, and got an idea. He drew a crude map of the house and handed it to CJ.

 

In a pirate voice, he said, “Aaar matey! Avast! Here be the map to moy treasure! Follow it, and the treasure be yours!”

 

Carl grabbed the map excitedly, and hurried off. He walked past the X several times, before eventually finding it.

 

Cesar saw feet on the X. He pulled the chord, and the plan unfolded. A small snooker ball he had found rolled down the stairs, knocked over a candle, burned through the rope that was holding the anvil up, and let it drop.

 

CJ cursed as the anvil landed on his foot.

 

Cesar cursed that he had just spent a thousand dollars injuring CJ's foot when he could just have run him over in a truck.

 

Claude laughed to himself in the other room. A bomb rolled to his feet. He kicked it away, blowing another hole in the wall, and uncovering another wide eyed pedestrian. Claude waved at her. She rubbed her eyes in disbelief, and then fainted. Claude ignored her, and walked off, seconds before several sharp tipped arrows pierced the wall where he had been standing. He didn't appear to notice.

 

Carl walked into the kitchen for a snack. He walked straight past the sink and the fountain of water spraying from it, and opened the fridge. He raked around, but found nothing. He then spent ten minutes trying to see if the light stayed on when he closed the door. Tommy entered, and held a glass over the fountain until it filled up with water, and took a drink. He stood behind CJ, watching with a mixture of interest and pity.

 

“CJ, what the hell are you doing?”

 

Without pulling his head out of the fridge, he said, “Trying to find out if the light stays on when I close the door.” His voice echoed off the walls off the fridge.

 

“Oh.” said Tommy, slightly perplexed. “Would you like a hand?”

 

“Thanks, Tommy, you're a pal.”

 

“Don't mention it, CJ.” Tommy held on to the fridge door, and slammed it shut on CJ's head.

 

“AAAAAAAGH!”

 

“Oh, well what do ya know? It really does go off after all.” Tommy walked off, laughing out loud.

 

Carl, clutching his head, took a few steps backward, and gave the fridge an evil look. He turned the faucet on (the one that wasn't broken) and had a glass of water. He stopped. Something was different. He played the scene over and over, staring at the sink. The spray condensed on his head and the fountain shot upwards almost touching the ceiling. He continued to stare, using all three of his brain cells to think.

 

Then it hit him

 

“When did we get a kitchen?” he yelled.

 

Cesar wasn't the kind to give up easily. One thing street racing had taught him was this – If you can't win fairly, violence is always the solution. He looked through the ACME crate for what was left. Dynamite, tripwire, a bowling ball, a first aid kit, an assortment of tools, a tiger, and bubble wrap! Cesar suppressed the urge to play with the bubble wrap, and set up Plan C: As Of Yet Untitled.

 

A thought struck him. Tiger. He quickly closed the box over again. He had been wondering what the holes in the box were for.

 

He walked down the stairs with the tools, and noticed everyone was watching TV again. That's good, he thought. No one will see or hear me. He produced a buzz saw and turned it on. It created a loud continuous whirring sound. He cut a circular hole in the floor with it, without drawing any attention to himself. He looked at the approximate twelve foot drop with satisfaction.

 

It's a bit conspicuous.

 

He covered it with leaves.

 

That's better. No one will suspect a thing.

 

He joined the rest of them to watch the news.

 

“ “It seems that these days gambling and entertainment go together, as the show “Big Brother” which recently premiered in our very own Liberty City will be sponsored by Las Venturas' Four Dragons Casino. This is very good news for the contestants on the show, and for host Lazlow, all of whom have been struggling to survive on Lazlow's meagre salary. We now go live to Richard Burns, outside the Four Dragons, with owner Wu Zi Mu.”

 

“C'mon, please, gimme another chance, man!”

 

“Mr Burns, you are in debt to my casino by eleven hundred dollars, I'm afraid we cannot give you any more chances.”

 

“Richard,” came the voice of Leanne Forget from the studio. “Richard, you are supposed to be interviewing Mr Mu about the sponsorship.”

 

“Oh, oh right.” In a matter of seconds, Richard changed his voice from the whiny, pathetic person he had been before, to his confident, cocky, news reporter voice. “So. Wu Zi Mu, what are your thoughts on the sponsorship of Big Brother?”

 

“Well Richard, “ began Woozie, who was facing the wrong way, “we are all very excited about the arrangement.”

 

“But, why such generosity? What's in it for you?”

 

“Okay, you got me. I sponsor the show, and in return, I get to be a guest on the show.”

 

“For how long?”

 

“Until I am evicted.”

 

“Well, there you have proof that even people who own Casinos can be slightly mischievous. Who would have thought it, eh? Back to you Leanne in the studio.” He changes voice again. “C'mon, I need to buy a new car, my old one is dirty. I need my money. Please, sir, give me another chance.”

 

“Thank you, Richard, we hope to see you alive and well in the future.”

 

Claude stood up to leave, as “My Five Uncles” came on. No one else would be able to tear themselves away. TV is for idiots, he knew. He went for his second attempt at climbing the stairs. Cesar watched with anticipation. Claude stepped on the pile of leaves, debating with himself mentally about whether finding leaves indoors was normal. Especially ones with the word ACME almost visible on them. He shrugged it off, and continued up the stairs. Cesar cursed and ran over to the leaves. Claude, now at the top of the stairs, watched him. Cesar began jumping up and down on the spot, and then every typical cartoon cliché kicked in and he prepared himself for the inevitable drop. But he didn't fall. . .

 

Relieved, but still irritated that his plan had once again failed, he stomped off. He passed Carl on the way.

 

“Oh, sh*t!” yelled Carl as he fell down the hole.

 

Claude stood at the top of the stairs smiling. CJ looked at him.

 

“Meep Meep!”

 

For Cesar, this was the last straw. He took the dynamite from the box. It was a classic type. Several sticks tied together with a cable leading to the detonator. He attached the TNT to Claude's bed, and fed the cable to his upstairs lair. He could wait until tonight to kill him. The wait would make it all the more sweet. He took some well deserved rest.

 

The doorbell rang. Tommy noticed he was the only one in the room, so he went and answered it.

 

Two men in identical black uniforms stood in front of him with their badges held out. “Good evening, ma'am, we have a warrant to search these premises in suspicion that Jeffrey Martin may have left a clue to his current whereabouts. We are also investigating claims that he may have been murdered in this building.”

 

It took Tommy a minute to take all this in. “What do you mean, ma'am?” he said.

 

“This woman is clearly hostile. Note her down as a suspect.” said one of the men.

 

“What's your name, miss?” asked the other.

 

“Tommy Vercetti.”

 

“Oh, you're a guy.”

 

“Damn right.”

 

“Well, you're still a suspect. And we still intend to search the premises.”

 

They walked around looking for things. Cesar came down.

 

“Looks like we have another suspect.” said a policeman

 

“I didn't do anything, holmes!”

 

“You, Hispanic guy.” Cesar looked up. “Why is this man in a hole?”

 

“Oh, “ laughed Cesar, nervously, “there's a really good explanation for that. I just wish I knew what it was.”

 

The police continued their search, leaving CJ in the ditch. They noted the broken window and the leaking faucet in the kitchen and then entered the bedroom. Tommy and Claude watched them. One of the policemen picked up the dynamite and inspected it. They followed the cable upstairs to where Cesar was sitting. They looked at him expectantly. He said nothing, but simply held out his hands as they cuffed him.

 

“Alright, you're under arrest for attempted murder, ownership of explosives, property damage, making CJ cry, keeping a tiger as a pet, and breaking the faucet downstairs.”

 

“You have no proof I broke the faucet!”

 

“Failure to cooperate with law enforcers,” he continued.

 

“Come on. You're coming with us.” said the other policeman. “You have the right to remain silent, please use that right to its fullest.”

 

They walked him out the door and back to the squad car.

 

“I thought they were lookin' for Loc. . .” said Tommy.

 

Hey guys, it's Lazlow again. I'm back so- WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED HERE? Why are there chunks of the wall missing? Why is the sink burst? Why is CJ down a hole? Why is there a tiger roaming around upstairs? Okay, that's the last time I leave you guys alone. It's a good thing we have that new sponsorship deal. We have some money for repairs. But it's comin' out of your food bills, you understand? God, could you have caused any more damage?

 

Just then, there was a loud rumbling, and smoke started pouring from the bedroom. The explosion knocked the door down showing the room beyond was on fire.

 

I swear, sometimes I should just keep my mouth shut.

 

 

I like to thank one of my friends for the Roadrunner idea.

Also I don't own Roadrunner or Warner Bros (I think they make that cartoon, right?)

 

 

 

[John-]

xD sucks for cesar only if he understood what catalina did

[Red_Jacks&Purple_Nines]

I like where this one is goin'! Post a new one soon!

[Family_Guy]

A/N: Words in italics are the thoughts of none other than. . .(cheesy horror movie music plays). . .MAX PAYNE! Like in the video game, Max has a habit of narrating his life as it takes place. It sounds funniest if you try and read it in his deep, deadpan voice.

 

So, until I state otherwise, Lazlow's speech will be in italics, AND BOLD and Max's thoughts will be in plain italics. Everyone got that? The Max Payne parts will follow the events of Max Payne 1, since I haven't played the second one. Also, I don't own Max Payne.

 

I had recently transferred to the LCPD. I pushed open the doors of the HQ with some force, creating a dent in the wall. The dent represented me, leaving my mark on the organisation. They turned to face me, and my new boss climbed unsteadily out of his extra large chair and sidled towards me, grunting like the pig he was.

 

“Well, good morning. You must be Max.”

 

I watched the chief with interest, his mouth spewing crumbs as he spoke. He was a large man, barely able to fit into his uniform. His pants looked like they could explode any minute.

 

“Hey! I take offence to that!”

 

I looked at the chief in mild shock. Was it possible that he understood my thoughts?

 

“Of course I understand your thoughts! You're saying them out loud!”

 

Clearly the chief was a man who liked to be in charge. But I had something that would take him down a peg. I reached into my pocket, feeling the cold steel of my pistol. Now it was time.

 

Seconds later I was on the ground with four heavily armed officers pinning me tightly to the floor, pinning me to my destiny. The chief had been ready for the attack somehow. He must have had inside information on me, but I have dealt with his type before, and I will again.

 

“Max,” he said, “you have been assigned to watch over the antics of the guests on the new show, “Liberty City Big Brother”. If the contestants commit any crimes whatsoever, you have every right to arrest them.”

 

“And why should I take orders from you?” asked Max.

 

“Because I'm your boss!”

 

I nodded cockily at the chief. My boss? Max Payne doesn't have a boss. I stared deep into his eyes, determining his next plan of action. They were a deep shade of green, bringing back awful memories of Valkyr overdoses, murder, betrayal, jealousy. . .revenge. He was behind it all. I was certain. He was the reason I was suffering.

 

“What are you talking about? I've never even met you before!”

 

The flesh of fallen angels. . .

 

“Get him the f*ck out of here!”

 

They dragged the gibbering Max outside, beat him repeatedly and dumped him on the steps, before re-entering, and closing the door tightly behind them.

 

“Wow, “ sighed the chief, “it's getting harder and harder to find decent recruits.”

 

I awoke several hours later in a daze. My head ached, like someone was playing the snare drum in the funeral procession of my mind and soul. Thankfully, however, I was still able to form coherent similes.

 

One of my shoes was missing.

 

Bastards. . .

 

I picked myself up and went to my hotel for a change of clothes. I opened the door carefully. I couldn't afford to be billed for more dents in this lifetime. But then, that is how my life is represented. I must dent this world. I must leave my mark. My job, my job, is to clean this place up. To rid the world of these unwanted vermin. I must cause the dents. I am the dents.

 

The hotel receptionist looked on as Max continued to talk to himself and stare at the wall. Eventually, she coughed quietly to get his attention. Max did not turn round.

 

“Sir,” she said calmly.

 

The corruption of flesh. . .

 

“S. . .sir,” she repeated uncertainly.

 

Asteroth, Lucifer, Satan. . .

 

“Sir, would you like help with your -”

 

BLAM!

 

I watched the bullet leave my gun, my face twisting and contorting into a stupid, constipated looking grin. The bullet entered her skull and she fell. Her corpse landed with a dull thud, the final note, ending her life.

 

The flesh of fallen angels. . .

 

I stepped carefully over the body and made my way up to my room, where I changed my clothes. I then left to my first assignment – Big Brother.

 

Meanwhile, the Big Brother house was undergoing some changes. The destroyed parts of the building were now under construction, previous guest Cesar Vialpando was assumed to be in hiding somewhere in the desert after escaping from the cops that arrested him, OG Loc was still missing, and new guest Wu Zi Mu was expected to arrive soon.

 

Everyone remember, Woozie is blind, so look out for him, and don't take advantage of him. I'm looking at you Tommy.

 

“Me?” Tommy said in pretend shock.

 

Just then the doorbell rang.

 

That must be him now.

 

Tommy walked over to the door, and opened it. Standing before him was a Chinese man, in a black suit, wearing shades. Tommy looked around slyly and started giving the man the finger repeatedly and making fun of him.

 

The man punched Tommy in the ribs. “I'm not blind!” he yelled.

 

Another Triad made his way uneasily to the door. “Hello, I'm Wu Zi Mu. You may call me Woozie.” he said. “And this is my assistant – Su Xi Mu. No relation.”

 

Su Xi gave Tommy an angry glare as they entered. Tommy clutched his ribs and Claude suppressed a laugh.

 

Su Xi led Woozie to the dining table, where he sat. Tommy sat next to Woozie, and attempted to make conversation.

 

“So. . .” he said. “you're blind?”

 

Woozie nodded. Tommy started giving him the finger and Woozie punched him in the ribs.

 

Su Xi emerged from behind Woozie with a notorious grin. Tommy glared at him.

 

“Who might you be?” asked Woozie.

 

“Tommy Vercetti.”

 

“Nice to meet you. And who are you?” he asked, to Claude.

 

There was no reply.

 

“Oh, “ said Tommy, “That's Claude. He doesn't talk.”

 

“Ah, does he suffer a terrible curse like me?”

 

“No, he's just a smart ass wise guy that seems to get away with whatever he wants since the author of this story favours him over the rest of us.”

 

“Oh.” said Woozie, slightly dejected. “Well, I'm going to go familiarise myself with my new surroundings.” He got up, and started feeling his way around.

 

Su Xi sat next to Tommy, and Claude sat at the opposite end of the table. Tommy and Su Xi simply stared at each other.

 

“I don't like you.” said Tommy.

 

Su Xi punched him in the ribs again.

 

When he saw this, Claude abruptly stood up and walked adamantly between the two, where he stopped, holding a gaze of anger and frustration.

 

Then, he too punched Tommy.

 

“Ow, 'the hell?”

 

Su Xi and Claude high fived each other and walked off, leaving Tommy to whine about the pain he was in.

 

“Hey Lazlow,” said Tommy, “is he allowed to bring his assistant? Surely that must be against the rules.”

 

Who cares?

 

The construction workers watched from their scaffolding (which had inexplicably been set up indoors) as Woozie walked around, arms outstretched, touching the walls and the floor and the stairs.

 

He reached a peculiar object, a shape that reminded him of climbing frames from childhood. He held a bar with both hands and climbed through, and continued walking through the gap in the wall, to the garden area outside. Seconds later, the entire scaffolding collapsed. He walked across the road, cars swerving round him and crashing into each other causing pile ups and yells, but Woozie continued to walk.

 

In the kitchen, Claude and Su Xi stood.

 

“So you don't talk?”

 

Claude shook his head.

 

“Well, it's not as bad as being blind.”

 

Claude shrugged.

 

“Woozie can barely do anything for himself. He thinks he has all this power, but really it's me. I do everything.”

 

Claude stood there, not really paying attention to Su Xi's ramblings.

 

“Assistant?” Su Xi snorted. “Please. Try servant, slave, whatever, but not assistant. I don't assist with anything, I do everything.”

 

Claude stared into his glass of water, clearly more entertained with swirling it around than with what Su Xi had to say.

 

“I have to watch over him constantly, never let him out of my sight for a second.” Su Xi looked around and started to panic. “Where the hell is he?”

 

Su Xi ran off, leaving Claude, who didn't appear to have noticed he was gone.

 

Su Xi came to the front door. “Why won't it open?” he yelled.

 

Sorry Su Xi, but if you leave, we can't let you come back in.

 

“What about Woozie?”

 

He can come back in.

 

“Why him and not me?”

 

Well Woozie, unlike you, has contributed a vast sum of money and a large sponsorship deal on our show. So we would prefer to stay on his good side.

 

“But I'm his assistant! He won't be too happy if you don't let me back in!”

 

Sorry Su Xi, you said it yourself. You're his slave, not his assistant. Of course, we will ask Mr Mu when (or if) he returns whether you can come back in. Beat it.

 

“Thanks Lazlow!” said Su Xi as the door unlocked itself and he ran out.

 

Outside, Woozie, still unaware of where he was, encountered a construction site. Unknown to Woozie, this particular site was far more dangerous than your average one, blind or not. Despite the obvious dangers of heavy machinery, rickety surfaces and lazy fat ass workers, this was also the location for local gang wars, such as the one taking place at this moment. The Cartel, the primary occupants of the site held the best positions as they waited for the rival gangs.

 

Woozie stepped around the site, becoming slightly uneasy now. He bent down and felt the ground, allowing a very heavy swinging wrecking ball to miss him by inches.

 

Liberty City was new to him, his senses were overwhelmed by the roaring traffic and the pollution. He walked into the enclosure, the path barely a foot wide, absolutely no idea of the danger he was in.

 

Su Xi, gasping and wheezing, arrived at the entrance to the site. He could see Woozie, or at least it looked like Woozie, walking along a thin plank, probably fifty feet up.

 

“Oh, sh*t!”

 

Su Xi ran into the construction site towards the entrance of the building, but was stopped in his tracks by the sound of dozens of guns being cocked.

 

Su Xi gulped.

 

Minutes later, back at the house, the doorbell rang again. Tommy cringed at the thought of answering it again, and let Claude do it.

 

The door was unlocked and a tallish man, with short brown hair, and a face as ugly as sin stood holding. . .a square of cardboard with his name on it.

 

“Max Payne, Liberty City Police Department.” he said.

 

Claude stared at the figure debating with himself whether to panic (seeing as this man was with the cops) or stand and laugh (seeing as this man was the most pathetic, ugly excuse for a human being he had ever seen). Finally, his common sense got the better of him, and he chose the second option.

 

The man who had answered the door smirked at the sight of me. He wore a leather jacket, as black as the night sky, and green cargo pants. He reminded me of hatred. Green like the Valkyr, black like the void it sent me into, swirling, black hole of emptiness. Will it ever end? WILL THE PAIN EVER STOP?

 

Damn, I'm good.

 

Claude looked on in confusion as Max spouted on and on presumably to himself. He decided it would be safest to stay out of his way, and moved aside.

 

Max strolled into the room.

 

Who is this guy?

 

I could hear voices in my head. Was it my imagination, a simple trick? Or something more?

 

Oh, great. Another lunatic.

 

Max walked over to Tommy and looked at him.

 

The man in front of me looked suspicious. I wondered what his name was.

 

“Tommy Vercetti.”

 

Satan, Lucifer, Astaroth, another man who can read my thoughts. Of course. HE IS THE DEVIL! I should have known from his clothing, his Hawaiian shirt, blue like the -

 

I felt an excruciating blow to the head, and the world went dark. I fell unconscious and suffered those recurring Valkyr induced nightmares, taking over my body, the baby screams, the blood, the flesh. . .

 

Claude and Tommy stared at the unconscious Max. Claude was holding a frying pan behind his back.

 

“He's still talking.” said Tommy. “Maybe you should hit him again.”

 

Claude did so.

 

The front door was opened and Su Xi and Woozie entered. Su Xi was cut, his clothes were torn, he looked like he had been in the middle of a gang war.

 

“Hey everyone, I found him.” said Su Xi. “He was a couple of blocks away walking around a construction site. I took quite a beating but - what's with the dead guy on the floor?”

 

The flesh! The flesh!

 

Everyone just shrugged, Claude hid the frying pan behind his back.

 

Ah, Mr Mu! Good to have you back, sir. Now, we have a slight predicament. . .

 

“What is it?” asked Woozie.

 

Su Xi grinned with confidence.

 

Well, you see, after someone leaves the building, we technically cannot let them back in. You are fine, of course, sir, but it is up to you to decide if your assistant, Su Xi Mu, can stay.

 

“Who?”

 

Y. . .your assistant. . .

 

“I'm afraid I don't know who you mean.”

 

Well I think that settles it. Get outta here Su Xi.

 

The Triad slave left, grumbling and cursing.

 

Good Riddance.mumbled Lazlow under his breath.

 

“Lazlow,” said Woozie, “are the repairs to the building finished yet?”

 

I'll find out for you sir.

 

HEY ASSHOLES! ARE YOU FINISHED YET?

 

Yeah, they're done.

 

“Yes, Mr Mu,” said one of the workers, “we have repaired the spaces in the wall, the scaffolding you knocked down notthatweblameyouatallsirnono and the hole in the ground that Carl fell into.”

 

Hey, where is Carl?

 

The floor behind Claude rumbled slightly. He could hear muffled shouting. He took a step back, and shrugged his shoulders.

 

He's still in the hole isn't he?

 

Tommy couldn't contain his laughter any more. Claude mentally sighed and moved away from the covered hole.

 

About half an hour later, Carl was out of the hole, apparently a little starved of air.

 

“I. . .hate. . .you ALL!” he gasped.

 

Later that day, Carl, Claude and Tommy stared at the still unconscious Max.

 

Fallen. . .flesh. . .aaaaagh. . .

 

“So what do we do with him?” asked Carl.

 

“The hole's still open. Why don't we push him in?” said Tommy.

 

“Yeah, okay.”

 

They picked the body up and slowly dragged it towards the hole.

 

I awoke from my trance. My head ached and I felt like I was moving. I examined my surroundings, and found three men pulling me along the floor, like the world pulling me kicking and screaming through existance.

 

“Uh oh! He's waking up!”

 

Claude hit him with another kitchen utensil.

 

I felt another blow, and the world slipped away once again.

 

They dropped the body into the hole.

 

There was a knock at the door, and Tommy answered. It was the same policeman that had arrested Cesar.

 

“Ah, well hello again, ma'am,” he said, “we just wanted to check up on how Max was doing and – where is he?”

 

Claude and Carl stood side by side, attempting to mask the hole from view.

 

The policeman walked over. “Now, why is this hole still here and oh god they killed Max.” he said flatly.

 

The man stared at the body in the hole. “There are serious consequences, you know.”

 

“For what?” inquired Tommy, sarcastically.

 

“For murder, ma'am. Now, tell me -”

 

THUD!

 

The body slumped over, and fell into the ditch on top of Max.

 

Claude held the frying pan innocently.

 

How they laughed.

 

“Uh. . .should we cover the hole up?”

 

“Yes.” said Woozie. “For my benefit.”

 

“Well what about the bodies?”

 

Well guys, I have been informed that Max Payne is supposed to play a larger role in the story, so you have to take him out.

 

“Damn.” said Carl. “Well. . .should we let the other guy out?”

 

“Nope. He's dead.”

 

“Oh.”

 

How they laughed.

 

“Well, let's go to sleep. I'm sure he won't wake up until morning anyway.”

 

 

[Red_Jacks&Purple_Nines]

Cool Max Payne! That was a funny chapter man!

[John-]

xD I was wondering where Carl was, keep up the good work.

[Archaon, Lord of End Times]

Oh man, this is great! I haven't read anything this funny in a long time.

[Family_Guy]

Day Eight.

 

Claude, CJ and Tommy walked out of the door of their quarters, while Woozie walked into it.

 

“Ow! Dammit! I can't seem to do a damn thing here! Where the hell is my assistant?”

 

“Uh, he was forced to leave last night because you didn't know who he was.” said Tommy groggily.

 

“Wait a minute. . .that was Su Xi?”

 

“Oh, the f*cking pain.” a voice interrupted.

 

“Ah, sounds like Max is up.” said Carl.

 

My head ached. I felt like someone was playing the snare drum in the funeral pro. . .oh wait, I said that one already.

 

Max pulled out a small notebook, and squinted at a page.

 

My head ached. I felt like I was being hit repeatedly with a hammer.

 

Well that wasn't very good. . .

 

“Good morning, Max!” said Tommy suspiciously cheerfully.

 

“Uhhhh?” groaned Max.

 

“Capital.” says Carl equally suspiciously, but this time in an English accent.

 

“Why are you all being so nice to me? And why does Carl have an English accent?”

 

Woozie said something in Chinese.

 

“You people are all crazy.” Max slowly stood up. “Except this guy.” He walked over to Claude. “This guy hasn't said or done anything to hurt me.”

 

Max put his arm around Claude.

 

Claude hit Max with a cleverly concealed shovel.

 

Max slumped to the floor, weary but still concious.

 

I looked on at my attacker. Once again, I felt as though I had been betrayed. He was the quiet one, like the guy who lures you into his shed with promises of candy one day when I was six.

 

But now I saw him for what he was. He was not the strong, silent person I thought he was. He never really had any candy in that shed. . .

 

“Let's bury him.” said Tommy.

 

“Noooo!” yelled Max.

 

Claude tossed the shovel to Carl, the recoil causing him to swing it backwards, hitting Woozie in the stomach.

 

Carl stood in front of Woozie and pointed to Tommy accusingly.

 

“Carl, you idiot. He's blind. He didn't see you.”

 

“Oh, yeah. So he doesn't know it was me?”

 

Woozie punched Carl in the face.

 

“I'm blind, not deaf, jackass!”

 

Max had just got to his knees at this point when Claude hit him with the same frying pan he had been carrying since yesterday.

 

The sound rang out in Max's head like an -

 

Like an ambulance siren wailing as it speeds to my rescue, only to arrive minutes too late.

 

Max smiled smugly, happy he had managed to say the line.

 

Claude hit him again.

 

Max was angry now. “What is up with this guy hitting me with things? Is it “beat the crap outta Max Payne day” or something?”

 

Claude walked to the other room and came back holding a calender. He pointed to today's entry.

 

“Hit people with kitchen utensils day?”

 

Claude nodded.

 

“Isn't that your handwriting, Claude?”

 

Claude quickly scrunched up the calender and put it in his pocket.

 

He looked around, then hit Max with the frying pan again.

 

It occurs to me that Max is spending most of his time here unconscious. . .

 

Claude spun around quickly, smashing the loudspeaker to pieces with his kitchen based weapon. A maniacal grin crossed his face, and he was filled joy. But he was not content yet. . .

 

“C. . .Claude. . .” said Carl. “G. . .give me the frying pan, Claude, before someone important gets hurt.”

 

Carl clutched at his head as the satisfying metal clang rang out.

 

“OH f*ck THE PAIN!” he screamed.

 

Tommy watched as Carl danced around the room with his hands over his head and grimaced as he saw him trip over a stool.

 

“OH f*ck THE PAIN!” screamed Carl.

 

As Tommy looked on, Claude approached him from behind, twirling the frying pan in his grasp, holding it firmly by the handle.

 

Then he struck.

 

Clang!

 

“Ow, Dammit!” yelled Tommy as he fell forward, colliding with the edge of the table with a dull thud on the way.

 

Claude looked around him, counting the bodies of his unconscious room mates. One, two, three? But weren't there four people here?

 

Ah. Woozie.

 

Claude approached Woozie from his front.

 

Woozie did not stir, being blind and all.

 

Claude swung the weapon, listening for the clang, but the only sound that filled the air was a faint swishing noise as the frying pan missed Woozie's face by inches. It didn't look like he noticed.

 

Claude swung again.

 

Missed.

 

Again.

 

Swish.

 

AGAIN!

 

NOTHING!

 

Dejected, Claude looked on as Woozie turned and walked away, unaware of anything.

 

Claude watched as Woozie tripped over Max's body and fell face first into the hole which hadn't been covered up.

 

Claude smiled evilly, picked up the shovel, and began throwing dirt into the hole on top of Woozie.

 

Claude, please don't bury our guests.

 

Claude gave the finger to a nearby camera, then destroyed it with the frying pan.

 

A thought occurred. Hadn't he just destroyed the loudspeaker moments ago?

 

In case you're wondering, we do have more than one loudspeaker.

 

Claude nodded, and continued shovelling dirt.

 

Just behind him, Max started to regain conciousness. He rolled from side to side like a turtle, and eventually managed to flip himself over and stand up. He saw Claude piling dirt into the hole.

 

Where was he getting the dirt from?

 

No.

 

No time for those kinds of thoughts, someone's life could be at risk. And for once it wasn't his own.

 

I slowly raised myself up and -

 

Claude thought he heard a voice and turned around.

 

Max quickly threw himself to the ground and pretended to be unconscious.

 

Claude shrugged and continued his work.

 

Max sighed in relief, and decided to reduce his ramblings to a quiet whisper.

 

I slowly raised myself up and stood silently. Dammit, my handwriting is hard to read. . .

 

No.

 

Not now.

 

This is important.

 

I stepped around carefully, as if the floor were covered in land mines.

 

POW! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!

 

I STEPPED ON A MINE AND -

 

sh*t! Hit the deck, he's turning round!

 

I played dead, as if the explosion from the mine had killed me.

 

Claude listened to Max talking, but assumed he was just rambling in his sleep again.

 

I awoke from my supposedly endless slumber. The bodies of my fallen comrades littered the battlefield.

 

It was up to me to stop the evil alien warrior overlord Claude from taking over Earth with his band of mutant ninja supermen, and to save the damsel in distress himself, Woozie.

 

Cue cheesy cinematic music.

 

Dun dun, dundundun dun, dundundun dun, dundundun da da da!

 

Max climbed the stairs (from the opposite end from the hole, it's a special made-up stair set) and watched.

 

James Bond, MacGyver, and Spongebob Squarepants all rolled into one, I am.

 

He found a convenient washing line trailing from one end of the room to the next, well above head height if you are on ground level, but just in reach from the top of the stairs if you lean over a bit. . .

 

The perfect zip-line.

 

Max fought with his belt buckle and undid his belt. He held it above him triumphantly.

 

He threw one end around the line and grabbed it in both hands like a zip-line, and climbed onto the railing on the stairs which forced him to crouch to avoid hitting the ceiling.

 

You can do this.

 

Cue Bullet-Time special effect.

 

Time somehow slowed down.

 

Max let himself drop from his position. As he did so, his trousers fell to his ankles, and the washing line zip-line snapped. Max quickly grabbed onto the wire and swung himself like Tarzan from the ceiling.

 

He suppressed the urge to start pounding his chest and roaring.

 

Thank God.

 

Max swung past Claude, over his head, smashed into the wall opposite with amazing force leaving a Max-shaped dent in it, and swung back. He lost his grip half way, and fell, cursing and shouting, directly on top of Claude.

 

Max stared at the wall, admiring his dent.

 

For I must dent this world. I am a dent. I am THE dent. Heh.

 

“Ow, get off me you fat f*ck!”

 

Wait a minute, Claude, did you just speak?

 

“Uh. . .no.”

 

Oh. Must have been mistaken.

 

Max twirled his finger by the side of his head to imply Lazlow was crazy.

 

Claude nodded in agreement.

 

Max produced his handcuffs, cuffed Claude, led him to a chair, and cuffed him to the chair also.

 

Claude was now helpless.

 

Nice job, Max, but did you have to tape his mouth shut?

 

“I guess not.” Max tore the tape from Claude's mouth.

 

“So what do you think now, Mr Patin?(Ryando will get the name reference) Not so tough outside your shed, eh?”

 

Claude looked on, bewildered.

 

No, stoppit, Max, stoppit. Repressed childhood memories stay repressed.

 

But I -

 

NO!

 

I just wanted -

 

That's enough!

 

But -

 

No buts!

 

FINE! I HATE YOU!

 

Max. . .Max. . .stop that. You're daydreaming again, Max. Have you been taking drugs? Have you been licking next door's toads again, Max? I warned you about that.

 

Uh, Max?

 

LALALALALALALALA!

 

Max put his fingers in his ears and continued to ramble.

 

He later fell to the ground, curled up in a ball and shaking.

 

Now he was sucking his thumb and crying.

 

Claude rocked the chair from side to side, trying to obtain the frying pan on the table adjacent, but it was out of reach.

 

Claude. I think you have a problem.

 

Claude shook his head violently.

 

You seem to have some sort of obsession with hitting people with that frying pan. I think it would be best if we got rid of it.

 

Claude slumped in the chair, his eyes sparkly with tears.

 

The stage hand guy appeared and reached for the weapon.

 

Claude hissed at him, and forced him to back off.

 

Max, now finished crying, stood up and immediately fell down the hole.

 

He emerged from the hole shortly after, covered in dirt, with Woozie trailing behind him, barely awake.

 

Max walked up to Claude.

 

“It was a nice plan. But maybe it was a little too perfect.” Max reached out to stroke Claude's hair.

 

Claude bit him.

 

“OW! BASTARD! I told you we should have kept the tape on!”

 

What do we do with him?

 

“I don't know. . . Death penalty?”

 

Uuuh. . .too extreme.

 

“It worked on me when I got addicted to Valkyr. Now I never touch the stuff. That green, bubbly, delightful stuff. . .I have to have some! DO YOU HAVE ANY! DON'T LIE TO ME, LESLIE!”

 

Uh. . .it's Lazlow.

 

“What about rehabilitation?” asked Woozie.

 

“Woozie, it's pronounced “Valkyr”.”

 

Woozie ignored Max. “What do you think, Lazlow? It might even work for Max.”

 

Well. . .I'm still considering the death penalty for Max, but it doesn't sound like a bad idea for Claude.

 

Hey, Claude, what do you think of the idea?

 

Claude started to rock the chair vigorously and angrily until it tipped over.

 

I'll take that as a yes.

 

“So, what? Do we hire someone in? Or send him away somewhere?”

 

Na, that's too pricey. I say we get the guests to do it. Of course, you don't have to, Woozie.

 

“I'll help, Lazlow.” said Woozie.

 

“What about me?” asked Max. “Do I have to do it?”

 

Yes.

 

“Damn.”

 

Okay, let's wake up the other guests and tell them. Max, you do that too.

 

“Aw man!”

 

I walked over to one of my fallen comrades – CJ, a man I had known for an accumulated time of about forty seconds. We were like brothers in the time we were together, and now I had to stare down at his motionless, lifeless corpse like a hungry vulture upon its prey.

 

“Carl. Carl. . .”

 

I leaned down closer, and started to perform the kiss of life.

 

Not for my enjoyment.

 

For the sake of my brother.

 

“C'mon, Millie, quit it!” Carl said groggily yet excitedly. “Not now,” he giggled, “I'm trying to kill Tenpenny. Wait, Max? AAAAAAAAGH! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH! AAAAAAAAAAGH!”

 

“Carl, “ said Max, “are you okay?”

 

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!”

 

CJ ran away in the direction of the bathroom and locked himself in.

 

I approached Tommy, another soldier in my squad. We hadn't really got on that well, these past minutes. Sure, we had our differences, but so did every other couple. If I revived him, I could make our relationship work.

 

I held his hand firmly.

 

“Lance! Knock it off, man, I'm not in the mood! I – Max? Where am I? Why is Claude laughing? Did I say something?”

 

Ha ha! No, nothing Tommy. Go and find Carl. Ha ha!

 

Later, everyone gathered around Claude who was still tied to the chair. Max, Carl, Tommy and Woozie sat in chairs surrounding him, and each had a speech prepared to attempt to aid his recovery.

 

Max stood up.

 

“Claude. Your friends have something they would like to share with you. We know this will not be easy, but we are all with you.”

 

Who will go first? Carl?

 

“Okay.” Carl stood up next to his chair. “Claude, I know we had a bit of a rivalry, and maybe that's my fault. I know I'm not really the smartest squirrel in the box, but -” Woozie opened his mouth to correct Carl, but Tommy (who was sitting next to him) stopped him. “I know we can be friends, Claude. You killed the evil psycho bitch I hated, but you also left me with the deed to a broken down old garage and I'LL NEVER FORGIVE YOU YOU BASTARD!” Carl lunged at Claude but Max stopped him.

 

“No Carl! Stay calm. We are trying to help Claude recover!”

 

All Claude could do was laugh.

 

Woozie?

 

“Claude,” said Woozie, “I don't know you that well.”

 

But?

 

“But what?”

 

Aren't you gonna say anything encouraging?

 

“Oh, uh. . .get well soon?”

 

Oh, god. Tommy, what do you have?

 

“Claude, I just plain don't like you. Seriously I hope you choke an die, or at least get hit by a truck.”

 

“This isn't working.” said Max. “I guess it is up to me to save the day again.”

 

Max reached into his pocket to find his speech. He pulled out a piece of folded paper which unfurled down to the floor.

 

Max cleared his throat. “Ahem. Claude, you may be an evil alien warrior overlord, but in my eyes you have been nothing but a great friend. I know that – according to Carl and Tommy – you have hit me and hurt me several times, but thanks to the many concussions you gave me, I don't remember a thing. You are the anchor that keeps me securely fastened to the ground. You are the like a mime artist, in the way you can convey all your emotions without words, simply by hitting me. You are the hand that so frequently dangles me over the edge of life, and sometimes decides not to let go. You are like a dent in my life now, a permanent impression whom I will never forget, and will cherish forever. You are like -”

 

Can we speed this along?

 

“And that is why I am here for you. And that is why we are here for you. We will help you beat this addiction and get back on solid ground.” Tears swell in Max's eyes. “I love you man! Group hug?”

 

“NO!” everyone cries in unison.

 

Max sighed. “Okay. Let's see if it worked.”

 

Max untied Claude.

 

Claude stood up and Max handed him the frying pan.

 

Claude held the handle in both hands and stared at it.

 

Max gripped both Claude's arms. “Remember, I will never forget you.”

 

Claude clubbed Max across the head hard.

 

Max staggered slightly, but regained his balance. He looked at Claude.

 

“Who the hell are you?”

 

Claude handed Max a small business card. On it was a picture of Claude holding a frying pan high above his head, and a smaller figure that oddly resembled Max kneeling before him.

 

He also gave one to Carl, Woozie, and Tommy.

 

“Hey Claude, how many of these did you have printed?”

 

Claude pulled back a curtain to reveal four or five dozen crates carrying the same motif as the card.

 

Max looked at the card and giggled. “Can I have another one please, mister?”

 

Claude nodded and extended his arm. Max shuffled forward in time to feel the full force of the frying pan colliding with his head.

 

“I TRUSTED YOU!”

 

Claude smiled.

 

“I don't think we'll ever make him drop it. . .” sighed Carl.

 

“I bet I can.” said Tommy.

 

He reached into his pocket and took out a bat and ball game (a bat with a ball on a string attached) and showed it to Claude.

 

Claude immediately stuck out his hand to grab it. Tommy pulled it away.

 

“Uh uh. First give me the frying pan, Claude.”

 

Claude looked at the frying pan, then at the bat, then at the frying pan. So many things were rushing through his head now.

 

Gee, that looks fun.

 

But this frying pan hurts people.

 

What am I going to do with four million business cards?

 

Did I kill that Max guy yet?

 

I hope I did.

 

Gee, that looks fun.

 

Claude surrendered the frying pan to Tommy in exchange for the colourful children's toy.

 

Tommy held the frying pan in triumph, but there was a knock at the door – another policeman.

 

“Evening ma'am.”

 

Tommy held the weapon threateningly. “I swear if one more person calls me that -”

 

“Now miss, there's no need to get hysterical. Perhaps that is why you killed the other nice police officer who came to visit? Hm?”

 

“Me? No, no, there must be some mistake. I just took the weapon from the real killer moments ago!”

 

“Oh, and who was that?”

 

“It was -” Tommy looked around for Claude, but he was no where to be seen. “sh*t,” he murmured under his breath, “I gotta blame this on someone. . .”

 

He glanced around the room. There was Carl. . .no he would kill Tommy, Max. . .no, he has enough bumps and bruises to be the sole victim, Woozie. . .the blind man. . .perfect!

 

“Uh. . It was him, officer.” Tommy pointed to Woozie.

 

“Do you expect me to believe that?”

 

“Yeah, I mean look at him – the dark glasses, the suit – you just know he's planning something.”

 

“What about the seeing eye dog?”

 

“What seeing eyes dog?” asked Tommy as he kicked the seeing eye dog from view. “Uuuuh, alright, listen. How much will it cost for you to go away?”

 

“I don't come cheap.”

 

“Clearly. Here. Have this.”

 

Tommy handed the police officer one of Claude's business cards.

 

“Y'know. . .” started the policeman, “the man on this card. I think I saw him before in this house. I bet it was him who - “

 

Clang!

 

The man slumped over, and Tommy immediately dragged the body to the hole.

 

Two dead cops. And one unconscious and amnesic. Great start for the debut show. . .

 

There was another knock at the door. Tommy walked over to answer it, but it was burst open seconds before he did so. To Tommy, this was rather surprising. Surprising, yes, but mostly painful, as he had been standing behind the door at the time.

 

It was Su Xi.

 

“Sir! Sir!” he yelled.

 

“What is it, Su Xi, I'm busy. I already have a seeing eye dog, I don't need you.”

 

“Sir, it's about your casino.”

 

“Ah, making great profits are we?”

 

“Yes sir.”

 

“Good good. Now is there a problem?”

 

“Yes, erm. . .More like a catastrophe.”

 

“Please, it can't be that bad.”

 

“It's on fire, sir.”

 

“Oh. That is bad.”

 

“Yes, as it happens, sir, one rather excitable man won a hand of Blackjack and celebrated by shooting his gun into the air.”

 

“That doesn't sound bad.”

 

“Well, see, the Triads were having a truce meeting with members of the Mafia and Yakuza, and when the shot was fired, each group suspected a set-up and basically it turned into a full blown war.”

 

“Oh my god!”

 

“I know sir. Thankfully, security managed to get rid of the men causing the trouble before they caused any serious damage.”

 

“Oh, that's good. Wait, I thought you said the building was on fire.”

 

“Yeah I tripped over a fuse and short circuited all the lights, they fell to the ground and set the place ablaze. My bad.”

 

“Su Xi you idiot! Lazlow, I have to go.”

 

What? Oh, bye Carl. . .

 

“W. . .Woozie. . .”

 

Right.

 

One more guest down, eh guys?

 

“Guess so.” said Carl who had just revived Tommy.

 

“Hey where's Claude? And Max?”

 

In the other room, Max lay on the couch. He was just coming round when he saw a dark shadow lurking over him -

 

masking the light, keeping me trapped in the perils of my world of complete darkness.

 

Max looked around to see what was causing the shadow.

 

I looked this way and that, the source of the brooding darkness was never too far away.

 

It was Claude.

 

It was Claude.

 

He held his new bat and ball playfully and encouragingly for Max to see.

 

In his hands, I saw it. His famous weapon. He would never hit me with it again! It was finished! AAAGH!

 

Max bolted out the room and out the front door, yelling “Screw you guys! I'm staying with Lazlow!”

 

Claude sat in the couch by himself, lonely and confused. He started to bat the ball about, and instantly cheered up.

 

In the meantime, Tommy got rid of the frying pan.

 

“Hey Carl, you ever hear of that Actionmax guy? He's a pretty good writer but he doesn't stand a chance compared to lordmasterkris.”

 

“What the hell are you talking about?”

 

“The story writers that – ah, never mind.”

 

“Hm. . .” said Carl. “That day seemed to pass by quite quickly.”

 

“Yeah, maybe coz we were unconscious for most of it. . .”

 

“Probably. Well, goodnight.” Carl said, and collapsed.

 

“Night Carl, night Claude.” said Tommy, before doing the same, hitting the edge of the table again on the way down.

 

Claude sat in the other room with his toy, frantically bouncing the ball around.

 

The string snapped.

 

Claude stood up, walked over to the bin and threw it in.

 

Well that's the end of that, eh?

 

 

 

 

Thanks for all the comments, and plz keep Big Brother y'all!

[Red_Jacks&Purple_Nines]

Another hilarious chapter!

[John-]

nice, so Claude will be more serious now?

[Family_Guy]

The same rule applies about the text styles – Bold Italics are Lazlow and regular italics are Max Payne

 

Day Nine

 

Hey, hey! Guys!

 

“Bluh?”

 

That's right, Carl.

 

“It's four in the morning!”

 

Actually it's two in the morning but that's besides the point.

 

“Bluh?”

 

Anyway I just received word that today is Claude's Birthday, so I'm letting you out of the house to get him a present. I had that servant guy from the basement put electronic tags on you while you sleep. So if you stay out past nine or leave the city you'll get a nasty shock. C. . .Carl please don't eat the tags.

 

“Bluh?”

 

Now sneak out while Claude is still sleeping.

 

Carl and Tommy nodded, and made for the door. The cold morning air hit them as they stepped out onto the pavement. Carl attempted to hit it back, but was unsuccessful.

 

“Well. . .” said Carl, “uh. . .bye!”

 

“Wait, where the hell are you going?”

 

“Home, Los Santos, man. We're finally out! We're free! Aaagh!”

 

A sudden jolt ran up CJ's leg.

 

“We can't go anywhere with these tags on, Lazlow's monitoring our every move.”

 

Lazlow watched the dots on the screen through his bloodshot eyes.

 

“Pac Man level One Complete!” flashed on screen.

 

“Ah, they just don't make games like Pac Man any more.” sighed Lazlow as he started playing San Andreas.

 

Back outside, Carl and Tommy were still on the pavement, but had made their way around the corner and were now sitting on the curb throwing rocks at moving cars.

 

“I wanna go home, Tommy. Can't you get this tag off?”

 

“Uh, I could shoot it off.”

 

“That could work.”

 

“Nah, I don't have a gun.” moaned Tommy after checking his pockets, “and all the Ammu-Nations are closed on Sundays.”

 

“Then there's only one thing to do.” said Carl with a sense of purpose.

 

“And what's that?” asked Tommy, breathing out all his expectations.

 

“We go to a hardware store and hack off my leg!”

 

“But the tag's on your arm, why would you want to-”

 

“You heard me!”

 

“Carl, you're being stupid!”

 

“Yeah? Well you're being. . . incongruous!”

 

“What?”

 

“What?”

 

Minutes of silence passed, before Tommy spoke again.

 

“We have to get Claude a gift.”

 

“Well I'm gonna get a better gift!”

 

“It's not a contest.”

 

“Nyah!” Carl spat and ran off.

 

Tommy shook his head slowly and rested it on his hand for a moment, before strolling off to find a suitable gift.

 

Meanwhile, in an unidentifiable location, a mysterious stranger, unknown to everyone, crept along the streets.

 

“Hey Max!” yelled Tommy as he sprinted past.

 

Max looked terrible. He had gone hours without a monologue and frankly it was starting to show. He had spent most of the night drinking, testing his best new one liners (He said "You remind me of a pepper-pot", I said "I'll take that as a condiment"), and throwing up. But mostly throwing up.

 

His life narrations were getting feebler by the minute.

 

Guuuhhhh. . . something 'bout. . .funerals and. . .drums. . . sh*t, I'm gonna be sick again.

 

He had wandered the street for well over fifteen minutes looking for a place to stay. He only had one place left to turn.

 

So he turned.

 

And fell in a ditch.

 

Meanwhile, Carl walked the dimly lit paving in front of Liberty's best loved (and only) shopping centre. He came across various clothing stores, including Binco, his favourite, and a video game store with a large cardboard cut out of himself in the window. He stood in front of it briefly to fix his hair, but it was no use. The next shop along caught his eye (the 3D logo of a hippy protruding from the building stabbed into him as he walked by).

 

“Hippy Shopper.” read Carl, and awarded himself with a cookie. “I wonder. . .”

 

He pushed the door open, a wave of smoke almost choked him. Suddenly he felt very hungry. He approached the counter, where a man with pale skin, big eyes, yellow teeth and a nifty little blue hat stood. He rang the bell just for good measure, and could have sworn he saw the sound waves resonating in the air. . .

 

“Duuuuuude. . .” questioned the hippy?

 

“um. . .yes,” said Carl, putting on the most formal accent he could muster, “I'm looking for the Truth.”

 

“The Truth? THE TRUTH? YOU CAN'T HANDLE THE TRUTH!”

 

Carl wiped the spit off his face. “Well, with all respect, I'd still like to see him.”

 

“Who?”

 

“Truth.”

 

“What?”

 

“Truth!”

 

“Woahohohoho! Maaan!”

 

“Wait a minute. . . Jethro?”

 

“Hey Carl.”

 

“Why didn't you say you recognised me?”

 

“Who?”

 

“Me.”

 

“and you arrrre. . .”

 

“Carl. . .”

 

“Oh hey Carl, it's me, Jethro!”

 

“I know.”

 

“Wow, man. . . it's been a while since I saw you dude.”

 

“I saw you last month. I asked you to put air conditioning in my car and you cut a hole in the floor, remember?”

 

“Man, that was awesome.”

 

Carl tried to stare him out, but had to stop when he started tasting colours. Jethro spoke again.

 

“So, anyway, Dwane-”

 

“Carl.”

 

“Carl, what brings you to Vice-”

 

“Liberty.”

 

“City?”

 

“Now say it again correctly.”

 

“Say what?”

 

“Never mind.”

 

“Oh hey, wait a minute. . .are you Carl Johnson? Man it is you! Hey Truth c'mere, it's Carl!”

 

Jethro ran off into the back storage area and came back with a middle aged woman.

 

“That's not Truth.”

 

“oh. . .ahahahahaha!” Jethro giggled as he fetched Truth.

 

“Hey Truth.” said Carl.

 

“Oh, hey Jethro-”

 

“Carl.”

 

“Right.”

 

“Truth you wanna come and meet some of my friends?”

 

“Sure, I had nothing else planned for today.”

 

“What about the sacred trip to the observatory to contact the space demons and ask them for more pot?” said Jethro.

 

“The. . .what?”

 

“C'mon, Truth, let's go. See ya Jethro!”

 

“Yeah see ya Hank!” added Truth as he was pulled out the doorway.

 

Back in the Big Brother house, Claude was just beginning to stir. It was nine am exactly. Lazlow knew this by the agonizing screams coming from Carl and Tommy who were standing on the porch.

 

Carl rang the bell.

 

Ah, Claude, you better answer that.

 

Claude placed his hand on the door handle and was thrown across the room as Carl burst through the door.

 

“Claude!” yelled Tommy, “Congratulations! I got you a chimp!”

 

“Yeah!” added Carl, “And I got you a hippy!”

 

Claude looked a little perplexed, but pulled himself off the floor and walked to the chimp, before wrapping his arms around its waste and hugging it until it turned blue. He then shook Truth's hand, and walked through to his room arm in arm with the monkey.

 

“He likes my gift better.” gloated Carl.

 

“No way! I got him a f*cking chimp!”

 

“Where the hell did you find a chimp in this town?”

 

“The people at the zoo were very friendly. Especially the janitor.”

 

“Who was the Janitor?”

 

“He was.” said Tommy, pointing at the monkey. “his name's Aaron.”

 

The doorbell rang. Carl answered in time for Max to throw up on him.

 

“Max? I thought you were staying with Lazlow.”

 

Yeah but I kicked him out for eating all my decorative soaps.

 

Max nodded grimly.

 

“Here,” said Tommy, returning from the kitchen with a drink. He handed it to Max who drank it down quickly. “Old hangover cure.”

 

“So Lazlow, do we have any entertainment for Claude's birthday?” asked Carl as images of clowns and balloons and unicycle drifted into his mind.

 

You're lookin' at it.

 

“Max? What's he gonna do? Recite his life story?”

 

“nah. . .nah. . .Tommy. . .nah. . .nup. . .I don't. . .don't. . .hic. . .do that. . .any more. Hic. I had a. . .hadda. . .revelation. I'm a stand up comic now. Hic.”

 

“You're not very good at the stand up part though are you?”

 

A rimshot followed by laughter played.

 

You better sober up first.

 

“No rush,” said Tommy, “he's playing with my present now.”

 

“Son of a bitch.” muttered Carl.

 

I have an extra special challenge for you two. And I'd like to note to the viewers that this is the first time they have eaten since Day five, so they should be jumping at the chance. Jump, bitches.

 

The bitches jumped.

 

You are going to bake a cake for Claude. If you are successful, you get to eat tonight. If not, Claude and his friend get to eat and you don't. Come on. Let's get started.

 

Carl and Tommy walked to the kitchen, closing the door behind them, and leaving Max and Truth in the entrance.

 

“Don't. . .I. .don't I know you from some-hic-where?” Max asked.

 

Truth shook his head and dropped his pipe, kicking it through a rat-hole.

 

“Didn't you used to be a cop?” asked Truth.

 

“Yeah but they. .fired me for. . .something about. . .overthrowing. . .alien overlord. . .trying to hit the chief. Yeah, that was it.”

 

“Oh. Sweet.”

 

“So. . .Carl. . .you know how to bake a cake?”

 

“I live in Ganton, Tommy. If I knew how to bake a cake, I'd be six feet under. I got a rep to hold up, I can't go around bakin' cakes, I' look like a fool.”

 

“Well, the “Kiss the chef” apron probably doesn't help.”

 

Carl turned away sharply.

 

“Aw, did I hurt your feelings?”

 

“Yes. . .”

 

“ahahahahahahahahahaha!” yelled Tommy.

 

The door burst open and Truth and Max laughed too.

 

“Oh god, feels like someone's working a pneumatic drill in my head!” yelled Max through the laughter.

 

“Well. . .we better get on with the cake.” said Carl, closing the door and covering his apron with his arm.

 

Some time later, the cake was put on the kitchen counter to cool.

 

Tommy creaked open the kitchen door and walked out, dusting his clothes and fixing his hair. A small drop of pink icing stained his shirt. Following him came Carl. The frustrated, angry look on his face was just visible through the thick pink substance he was covered in.

 

He muttered “fell into the cake mixture. . .”

 

“Twice.” added Tommy.

 

“r. . .right.”

 

Tommy noticed Claude sitting with his legs crossed, pulling up bits of carpet.

 

“What's the matter Claude?” he said, faking interest.

 

Claude held up a flash card stating “bored” with a picture of a sleeping puppy. Afterwards he put it back with the others which had apparently been a gift from Max.

 

“Well, what about your other presents? You hardly play with your chimp at all any more, or your hippy.” He pointed to a corner of the room where Aaron sat eating things he pulled from Truth's hair.

 

Claude shrugged, and tried to set the strands of carpet on fire. Tommy ignored him. He walked back over and sat with Max and the pink fellow. Truth joined too.

 

“So,” said Max, who was finally sobering up, “how is the cake?”

 

“Let's just say Claude will find it rather. . . explosive. . .” Tommy broke into an evil laugh. Carl joined in when he realised what was so funny. Truth joined in for the hell of it.

 

They noticed Claude walk over, and search his cards for one that said “Where's monkey?”.

 

“Max, you really thought he would need a “where's monkey?” card?”

 

“Well, Carl, it looks like he proved you wrong, didn't he?”

 

“No.”

 

“Well, then.”

 

“No,” interrupted Tommy, “he has a point. Where is the monkey?”

 

He noticed Truth pointing behind him eagerly, then fall off his chair laughing. He turned to see.

 

“Aw, Carl! Tell me you didn't leave the kitchen door open!” yelled Tommy.

 

“You didn't say I had to close it!”

 

“C'mon, we got animals running around! And I don't just mean Truth!”

 

“Hey that's no way to talk about Truth!” yelled Carl with a smile. “Oh. Oh you already said it. Dammit.”

 

“Ha ha,” laughed Max mockingly, “looks like the monkey ate your cake!”

 

“There was a bomb in that cake!”

 

Everyone fell silent.

 

A loud rumbling was heard from the kitchen, and Claude ran through, everyone else trailing behind.

 

Inside the kitchen, it rained monkey fragments. Claude sat on his knees in the middle with a look of genuine sadness. Then, he got up, took Truth by the hand, and skipped off with him as he had done with the monkey. The Truth mouthed “help me” as the door closed behind.

 

“Told ya he liked my gift best.” said Carl.

 

“You think we should help him?” asked Max.

 

“We could.” said Tommy. “But. . .y'know. . .TV.”

 

“yeah,” concurred Carl in an equally robotic tone. “TV.”

 

They sat at opposite ends of the couch and flicked on the TV, a news channel. Max reluctantly joined them and sat in the middle, placing his arms on Tommy and Carl's shoulders, causing major discomfort for both of them.

 

The reporter was talking about strange lights being spotted.

 

“Hey,” laughed Max, “the Truth is on! We gotta go get him and let him watch!”

 

“Wait a minute,” muttered Tommy, “this is a live show. . .”

 

“Is that Claude?”

 

A figure in a black leather jacket was strolling around aimlessly behind Truth and the interviewer. He produced a shovel and started smashing parked cars with it. Neither the reporter or Truth took much notice.

 

“Yeah I seen the lights. I been there, I seen everything man.”

 

“And what was it like?” asked the genuinely interested reporter, a young Asian woman with straight black hair.

 

“Well. . .” Truth faltered, “it was green, and. . .and. . .bright. I. . .uh. . .”

 

“Uh-huh. And have you ever seen the aliens?”

 

“Yeah I been aboard the Mothership.”

 

“But isn't it true that the “Mothership” is actually the name of your car?”

 

The Truth was starting to sweat. More than normal. Behind him Claude was holding up his “Hi Mom” flashcard.

 

“I see.” moaned the reporter, who had now lost interest completely. “And what did the aliens look like?” Her tone was patronizing and dumbed down.

 

“Uh. . . they were li'l green dudes, with big slimy heads and sh*t. . .”

 

“Yes. . .well. . .have fun on your voyage to the stars.” she laughed. “And. . .cut! I swear to god these crappy interviews just piss me off so bad and – Frank, I said cut!”

 

The image disappeared and a woman sitting at a circular desk in a blue studio came on screen.

 

“Currently we have no more information.” she stated firmly. “In other news, officials are on the hunt for the possible kidnappers of Aaron the floor mopping chimp who recently disappeared from his quarters in the Liberty Zoo earlier today. Richard Burns is on the scene.”

 

“That's right, Leanne. Wait a minute, you're not Leanne. Where the hell am I?”

 

“Richard, get on with it.”

 

“Yes! I'm here with Liberty Zoo owner Arnold Liverly, one man without his monkey. Do you have anything to say at this present time?”

 

A gruff, fat man took the microphone and said, “We need that monkey! The hippo cages won't clean themselves dammit! We'll make a federal case out of this! So, kidnapper, if you're listening at home, return our monkey, or there will be hell to f*cking pay! Back to you Richard. Richard?”

 

“Woah, the elephants are mating! How cool is that!”

 

“We'll bring you more information as soon as we can.” said the host in the studio.

 

Music played and the news ended.

 

Well look at that, its getting late.

 

“It's only eight fifteen!”

 

And that means its time for the show!

 

Truth and Claude came in the front door. No one bothered to ask how they got outside from the bedroom.

 

Alright, everyone pull up a chair in front of Max and let him entertain you!

 

“Lazlow, you on anti-depressants?”

 

Why, yes, thanks for noticing!

 

Testing. Testing. Hi how is everyone tonight?

 

“My feet hurt!”

 

“I'm hungry!”

 

“Why does he have to do the show in his monologue tone?”

 

Hi, I'm Max -

 

“We know!”

 

Tough crowd. . .

 

“What do you mean tough crowd! Carl and Truth are already asleep and Claude's too busy playing with his cards!”

 

He held up one that said “Go Max!” with a picture of a rabbit doing a bullet time roll.

 

Then let's get on with the show!

 

“Or not!”

 

Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave.

 

“Better comedians than you have tried!”

 

Max, just get on with it.

 

I love stand up comedy. But what I love most is trying to pack myself into a suitcase. I can hardly contain myself.

 

Max pressed a button in his palm and a rimshot and laughter played. Tommy was already asleep.

 

Claude's card read “not bad.”

 

Now you know those trick candles that you blow out and a couple of seconds later they come alight again, well the other day there was a fire at the factory that makes them.

 

The card read “was anyone killed?”

 

No, no Claude, it was a joke.

 

He picked up a new card. “Oh.”

 

I was in my local supermarket the other day when I saw two people wrapped in a barcode. I asked them, “are you an item?”

 

Rimshot.

 

Claude's card: “Getting tedious now.”

 

The sound of Max “crashing and burning” on stage woke Tommy up.

 

I had a dream last night, I was eating a ten pound marshmallow. I woke up this morning and the pillow was gone.

 

“Max, you slept outside last night.”

 

I. . .I know. Theotherday I sent my girlfriend a huge pile of snow. I rang her up, I said "Do you get my drift?".

 

“You don't have a girlfriend.”

 

Claude's Card: “Bored enough to kill you”, with a picture of the rabbit being decapitated by a man with a huge smile.

 

Uh. . .thanks you've been a great audience!

 

Max ran for the door, exiting just before Claude's shoe hit it.

 

The doorbell rang.

 

Tommy answered, with mild shock.

 

“Hey Truth, it's for you!”

 

Truth jolted to his feet and went to the door. Two big headed green aliens stood in the frame with an identical set of flashcards as Claude.

 

Tommy returned to the living room and watched TV.

 

Minutes later Truth walked in again.

 

“Well. . .I'm going to Mars. Um. . .bye guys.”

 

“Yeah see ya Truth.” came the reply.

 

Claude walked to the door and showed his “can I come?” card.

 

The alien shook its head solemnly.

 

“Sorry, Claude.” said Truth, as he walked off with the green guys.

 

The Asian reporter watched with interest from the news van as the space ship took off into the sky.

 

“What, a story!”

 

“The equipments in the van already.” said one of the crewmen.

 

“Ah, then screw it. Let's get a Cluckin' Bell.”

 

Back in the house, it was getting late. Tommy turned to Claude, and said, “Not a bad birthday, eh?”

 

To which he held out a card stating “it's not my birthday.”

 

“But Lazlow said it was.”

 

Oh, see that's the funny thing, I lied. Heh. . .

 

“Oh you better pray we don't get evicted!”

 

You won't. You won't.

 

Thanks for all the comments!

[John-]

XD claude and flash cards o.O chimp lol

[Red_Jacks&Purple_Nines]

Claude with flashcards. lol! That was funny! Anyways post a new chapter soon. Aiight later. PeAcE!!!

[lordmasterkris]

What the hell? You could at least credit me when you blatantly copy my work.

 

I mean, the tags don't even work. It says "bold for Lazlow" etc and it's not even bold, because all you're doing is copying it straight from Fanfiction.net

 

And, I quote (from my OWN story):

 

"Hey Carl, you ever hear of that Actionmax guy? He's a pretty good writer but he doesn't stand a chance compared to lordmasterkris.”

 

“What the hell are you talking about?”

 

“The story writers that – ah, never mind.”

 

Feel free to go to http://www.fanfiction.net/s/2308282/1/ and see for yourself.

[Red_Jacks&Purple_Nines]

What the hell? You could at least credit me when you blatantly copy my work.

 

I mean, the tags don't even work. It says "bold for Lazlow" etc and it's not even bold, because all you're doing is copying it straight from Fanfiction.net

 

And, I quote (from my OWN story):

 

"Hey Carl, you ever hear of that Actionmax guy? He's a pretty good writer but he doesn't stand a chance compared to lordmasterkris.”

 

“What the hell are you talking about?”

 

“The story writers that – ah, never mind.”

 

Feel free to go to http://www.fanfiction.net/s/2308282/1/ and see for yourself.

Oh that is just low man. F_G, you bustah! Get the f*ck outta here you plagiarising creep! So, you made this story. I have to say that this is fine work of art homie. But, its kinda spoiled cause this @$$hole stole it from you (Points to Family_Guy) Anyways, I have checked out your link to fanfiction.com. Family_Guy, come up with yo rideas and don't steal from others! You have been taken off my Respect List b*tch. lordmasterkris. Will be continuing it by any chance on fanfiction.com? I would like to read more from the REAL author.

[John-]

What the hell? You could at least credit me when you blatantly copy my work.

 

I mean, the tags don't even work. It says "bold for Lazlow" etc and it's not even bold, because all you're doing is copying it straight from Fanfiction.net

 

And, I quote (from my OWN story):

 

"Hey Carl, you ever hear of that Actionmax guy? He's a pretty good writer but he doesn't stand a chance compared to lordmasterkris.”

 

“What the hell are you talking about?”

 

“The story writers that – ah, never mind.”

 

Feel free to go to http://www.fanfiction.net/s/2308282/1/ and see for yourself.

wtf he has been stealing this? I even pm'd him and asked when will he MAKE a new chapter and he said soon and we laughed and all and wow what a jerk cant make his own fanfic.