Author's Note:

Don't ask.

Episode Two: The Truth of It All, Existence is a Farce

Bigg Mamma Jone's Space Cruiser/ Chevrolet Camaro of Love

Sergeant Avery Johnson, although he liked to be called "Tyrone Jone" and "Bigg Poppa", with two g's of course, symbolizing he was a double-og, a super combo of an original gangster.

He lied down on his back, moaning to himself as he nodded.

"Mmmm yeah baby…that's how we do it wit Tyrone Jone! Uh uh yeaaaaah…harder baby!"

He groaned in surprise as Juan appeared out of nowhere.

"Um…hey baby…What's up…"

Juan strolled forward, his Elite body moving rhythmically as he shook his finger…thing…whatever Elite's have.

"Uh uh! Ju ain't talkin' to me like dat! "

Various chuckles

"Wat where ju makin' all dese noises 'bout? Ju seein' someone behind my back?"

Crowd starts applauding and making "Uh uh" noises like children.

"Uh hells no baby, I only got eyes fo you! Ya'll know it's true, I ain-"

Suddenly he was interrupted by an English accent as the floating orb that was lodged in his ass flew straight out, floating about while making odd noises.

343 Guilty Spark floated around for a bit; disorientated.

"Where…where am I? What was that horrid place full of waste and gerbils? Why is my visibility low? You are not the forerunner!"

Crowd begins chanting, "We like Ike!"

Johnson chuckled nervously as he saw the enraged face of his Elite lover view the flying ball of polite and awkward love that had flown out of his ass.

"Juuuu sonnuvabitch! I'm gonna cut ju!"

He suddenly switched to Tyrone Jone mode, raising an eyebrow to signify his grand transformation.

"Bitch please! I just thought we need to up the ante when we're fantin', ya kna?"

Juan paused for a second and then put away the purple laser phallus of death, sighing.

"Well…I guess ju right…We can spice up our sexytimes! But I get to pick da next partner!"

Bigg Poppa winked charmingly, clapping his hands while munching on a suddenly materialize piece of turkey jerky.

Light applause

"Damn left baby, damn left."

Master Chief sighed as his ship floated in space, on its final destination to the unknown.

He hadn't realized until now that there were other Halos, he'd only just heard of Tartarus' plan and the fact that he'd-

Suddenly a large projectile shaped like a 1967 Chevrolet Camaro crashed into Master Chief's Pelican, effectively dooming the entire human race and most of the known universe.

Master Chief shook his head, pulling out his ultra cool Halo 1 pistol and twirling it around, waiting for the Covenant to appear, flicking the pistol around in his hand and then doing a double ollie on it.

"I am Shalashaska!"

Light giggles

But instead of what he'd expected, Master Chief was faced with the two…or maybe three most horrendously lame denizens of the galaxy, the dudes that the Arbiter never invited to the End of the World party to snort coke and talk about how "Posh Spice totally sucks balls compared to Baby Spice"

Juan the Elite, Sergeant Avery Johnson strolled in, Johnson holding a lasso gripped firmly around a chirping bundle of anal joy that had once called itself 343 Guilty Spark.

Now it was just "1337a55sLaVeXxX".

Master Chief sighed, realizing that at this range, a plasma grenade would probably kill him as well, so he gestured to the group and spoke in that vague unknown voice of his that sounded like a DJ for a radio station WDRV in Chicago, Illinois.

"What in Tony Danza's name do you fraggots want? You're going to get fragged if you don't get off my Pelican right now, my CS skills are as tight as a virgin's earhole! I don't want you freaks to mess up my groove yet again, these inane humorous meetings are only arranged to amuse a teen audience. Dammit, Rachel!"

Crowd applauds and begins humming theme from "Friends"

Sergeant Johnson, crept up to Master Chief, 1337a55sLaVeXxX still floating about on a lasso-like leash. He figured that as the black guy, he would be the best one to deliver the message they had wanted to deliver to Master Chief. After all, no one killed the messenger.

Creeping forward, he whispered into Master Chief's juicy tight earhole, wherever that was on his helmet.

Master Chief nodded for a few seconds then slammed the butt of his assault rifle into Johnson's head, sending him flying back and causing a bunch of random Marines to show up out of nowhere and panic, then just as quickly disappear, products of the author's delirium.

Johnson groaned on the floor, writhing and then transitioning to "the worm".

"C'mon baby…What's wrong with dat, huh? Everybody likes a lil, lil, ya kna?"

Master Chief crept forward, pointing his rifle at Johnson.

"With me? I'm so above your level, I'm like on the final boss already, you're like Raiden man! I'm Kevin Costner! I'm a super soldier! I'm like those guys in the X-Files."

Johnson sighed and Master Chief smirked, although it wasn't really visible, and turned around to find his rocket launcher and "gently eject" the boarders from his podhole.

But he was stopped by a certain floating orb of love that had escaped from its master's lasso.

The robot formerly known as 343 Guilty Spark pivoted and sashayed around in the air in front of Master Chief, then finally speaking in his precise, almost robotically musical (like Styx) tone.

"C'mon Honey Benet…You make me rohrny…"

Crowd starts clapping with one hand.

"Uh?"

"Why would you hesitate to do what you have already done? Last time you asked me: if it were my choice, would I do it? Having considerable time to ponder your query, my answer has not changed. There is no choice. We must activate the phallus device."

Master Chief let out an unholy scream as the purple laser phallus of death flew towards him.

And then, all was darkness.

Three Hours Later

Master Chief, Avery Johnson, a mariachi band, and Juan awoke, completely clothed in a huge slowly spinning love bed shaped like a "T".

1337a55sLaVeXxX hovered above them, inexplicably, somehow with a ballgag in…whatever orifice , 1337a55sLaVeXxX could possibly have as an ancient artificial intelligence tasked with overseeing Installation 04; now with the prime directive of "PAAARTAY!" and "snort coke off public urinals at 3 AM"

Master Chief clutched his helmet, cursing his fate and trying to forget the passionate unity of the cosmos he'd made for the past three hours.

Meanwhile Johnson and the mariachi band smoothly sashay to a delightfully horrendous falsetto version of "Afternoon Delight"

"Gonna find my baby, gonna hold her tight
gonna grab some afternoon delight.
My motto's always been; when it's right, it's right.
Why wait until the middle of a cold dark night.
When everything's a little clearer in the light of day.
And you know the night is always gonna be there any way.
Sky rockets in flight. Afternoon delight. Afternoon delight."

Crowd goes crazy and starts slaughtering all mimes within a ten-mile distance

Suddenly Bill Cosby popped out of the bed, giving Master Chief a low-five.

"Dear god…"

Bill Cosby nodded, clapping his hands.

"Uh joodajoo JELLO FOR EVERYBODY! LOW-FIVES GIVE YA CANCER!"

Crowd laughs and conservatively applauds as credits roll, mercifully.

Author Notes:

I said don't ask, goddamit!