Chapter 8- Spam, Spam, Spam, Spam
A/N: I don't own Monty Python or Graham Chapman. Please review but no flames.
Graham woke up to a massive head ache. He began to reach up his hand when he realized that neither arm could move. He quickly realized he was tied up. He blinked to focus on his surroundings.
"Where am I?' he asked.
"Why, you're in my restaurant, my pretty!" a cackling voice replied.
Graham snapped around to see the Spam Lady.
"Now," she said as she advanced on him with the can of Spam, "You have two choices. You can give me the cans of Spam on your feet and die or you can not give them to me and die."
Graham blinked there seemed to be no choice.
"What's so bleeding important about the cans of Spam?" he asked.
"They may be magical!" The Spam lady cackled. "Do you know why people fear me?"
"Because you carry something that smells and tastes like cat food?" Graham snapped.
"No! The staple food of Jones country is Spam and we ran out. Spam is poisonous to all outside of Jones Country. It was most poisonous to those in Chapman Country. Only they could help us with our shortage, if you know what I mean…"
It dawned on Graham. He gasped.
"Oh no! You aren't go to- You don't- THAT'S SICK!" he cried out as she laughed.
"And now, my pretty, if you do not do as I wish in a half an hour-"
A watch beeped. The Spam Lady looked at her wrist watch.
"Oh my! It's tea time. I'll be right back and then, you're mine!"
The Spam Lady disappeared. Graham sat on his chair and began to do something he rarely did. Graham wept bitterly.
A few kilometers from the restaurant, The group had rejoined and were now huddled around a fire. Patsy sat a bit away from the rest of the group. He had failed Graham and now, he could be hurt or worse. He looked over at the rest of the group. They were all as worried as he was. He had to be strong, like Graham. He crawled over to the rest of the group.
"What do we do now?" he asked. Great. Real strong, Patsy "Sire is gone… and maybe dead."
John Straightened up. He had always put up a façade of strength, but now, he was terrified.
"Well… we should go and find him…" he said.
They heard low voices singing almost a mantra.
"Spam, Spam, Spam, Spam, Spam, Spam, Spam, Spam…"
They began to stand up and walk in the direction of singing. Patsy became increasingly worried. He had heard of a tale that when the Spam Lady waged her secret wart on Chapman Country, the Vikings of Jones Country would gather to watch, not knowing that someone was being executed.
"Oh please don't let Graham get hurt…" he whispered to himself. "I need him…"
Meanwhile, Graham was in the kitchen of the restaurant, still weeping. He had seen a vision of David, alone and crying his name. How Graham had wanted to reach out to him but he couldn't. He looked up. He began to do another thing he didn't do often.
"Lord… please, let me get out of this one… I need to go home… I need to see David…I need to get back…I don't want to die…"
He heard a bang against the door. He turned to see Patsy, barreling in the doorway.
"Sire!" he cried out to the tied up Graham.
"Oh, thank God you're here!" Graham cried out as they untied him.
"Hurry! We have to get out!" John cried.
As soon as Graham was untied, the Spam Lady of the West appeared.
"Not so fast! I must kill you all now!" She cackled evilly. "I think I'll start alphabetically!" she cackled as she approached Graham with the can of Spam.
"No! I don't like Spam!" Graham screamed in the pepperpot voice, causing the Spam Lady to fall to the floor screaming.
"It's working! Keep going!" John cried out.
"I don't like Spam!" Graham screamed again.
"Bome on! Let's go before she batches us!" Smoke Too Much cried.
They tore out of the restaurant and back down the Yellow Brick Road. As Patsy ran behind Graham, all he could think was: Man, he has a fine ...
A/N: Please review but no Flames.